


loaded god complex (cock it and pull it)

by haechansheaven



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Minor Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas/Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Minor Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun/Na Jaemin, Rimming, Slice of Life, Strangers to Lovers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23093698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haechansheaven/pseuds/haechansheaven
Summary: Mark laughs and Jeno, through his absolutely drunk haze, feels his heart sink a little before he seals it away. It’s nice, he lets himself think. Nothing more, nothing less.He hopes to see Mark again next week.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Mark Lee
Comments: 30
Kudos: 173
Collections: 99' ft 00' fic fest





	loaded god complex (cock it and pull it)

**Author's Note:**

> #FT099
> 
> ** DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE. don’t repost my shit or i’ll bite your fuckin’ achilles tendons like a sheepdog and herd you straight into hell **

“This is fucking _stupid_,” Jeno mutters under his breath, reaching out to take the Natty Light from Donghyuck’s outstretched hand. His smile is borderline sinister as he shrugs, pushing Jeno towards the basement. He can smell the spilled beer and sweat from the ground floor. There’s nothing sexy or _fun_ about a frat party, really. The only thing that ever keeps him there—keeps him grounded—is the cheap beer and the promise of some sort of a good time.

“Lighten _up_, Jeno. Jesus Christ. A little fun never hurt nobody,” teases Donghyuck with a smile. “Anyways, let’s get going. Yukhei is waiting for me downstairs.”

“Of _course_ he is.”

Donghyuck drags him down the cramped stairwell, though it’s not really like Jeno has much of a choice at this point, a wall of bodies meeting them as they open the door to the basement. Yeeun—Jeno recognizes her from Model UN—stumbles into him, grabbing his face with her hands as she squints into the darkness. She eventually sees _something_ that’s probably vague recognition as she smiles and shouts _something_ that Jeno can’t hear over the music before she’s tugged away by Eunbin, who grins over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

There’s a lot of somethings and not much of anything, really, in the basement of a frat house.

When he turns back towards Donghyuck, he’s pissed—though, that’s something of an understatement—to see that he’s already disappeared into the crowd. He stares at the lukewarm beer in his hand with disdain before knocking it back in one fell swoop. Jeno swallows as a hand claps against his back, shoving him forward. It’s jarring to say the least and, even with all his senses still with him, Jeno whirls around to find the culprit.

“Who the _fuck_—”

“Jeno Lee! Fuck! Who would’ve guessed you’d come out to one of these.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eric. Way to scare the shit out of me,” Jeno shouts, shoving his classmate by the shoulder. “I could’ve fucking _choked_, you bastard.”

“Good riddance!” Eric laughs, tossing his head back before jabbing his thumb over his shoulder and walking away. Jeno takes the silent gesture to mean _follow me_. It takes some stumbling through the crowd to finally reach the bar area, ending with a cup of juice in one hand and another cheap beer in the other. “You’re fuckin’ _welcome_ for that,” Eric says, gesturing at the juice. “That shit’s _strong_. I have no idea what the fuck Jacob was up to, but that shit’s mostly gin. It’ll fuck you up _good_.”

“Good,” Jeno mutters, staring at the bright orange colored drink. “I need to be fucked up.”

“I _knew_ you were dragged here.”

“And maybe I was,” Jeno replies, taking a swig of the juice.

It’s strong, the flavor of cheap gin pervading through whatever juice they attempted to water it down with. His nose wrinkles as he chases it with a sip of beer. The alcohol warms him as it travels down his throat and settles in his empty stomach. _Tactical drinking_, Donghyuck had called it. _Get drunk quick_. Jeno didn’t doubt him, but it’s frightening that he can already _tell_ that the alcohol is going to hit hard and fast.

Not that he doesn’t want that.

“If you finish that in the next five, I’ll get you another cup before it’s gone,” Eric says with a grin, leaning back against the bar.

“Okay, bet.” Before Eric can reply, Jeno is downing the juice before chasing it with his beer. In response, he holds his now-empty cup out towards Eric with a grin. “Well?”

“… Jesus Christ. Okay. You’re getting fucked up tonight then, huh?”

“It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, Eric. I gotta let loose somehow, right?” Jeno laughs as he leans forward on the counter, peering over the bar where Eric pours juice from a giant container into his cup. He wrinkles his nose at it, though he takes it eagerly regardless.

“You haven’t gone out in _months_. Pretty sure I didn’t see you at all last year. Maybe once or twice? Too focused on your exams or whatever.”

“Sorry I want a future, you ass,” bites back Jeno. He accepts the cold beer that Eric also hands him.

“You know, everyone tells you not to mix your alcohols, and here you are, mixing them without _blinking_,” says Eric with a smirk.

“Holy _fuck_! Is that Jeno Lee I see?” shouts a new voice.

“Indeed, it is,” Jeno raises his beer and cup in greeting, “What’s up, Jaemin? It’s been a hot sec.”

“Fuck _yeah_ it has! I thought you transferred or some shit!” Jaemin cackles, head thrown back, eyes unfocused.

“You’d know I still attended if you went to class, you prick,” replies Jeno with a laugh.

The bar area is somewhat quieter than the rest of the basement, though the bass of the music still vibrates deep in Jeno’s chest. It’s somewhat cathartic to spend his first Saturday night free in _months_ out. Jaemin is a familiar face; a friend from high school. They ended up in the same area, just by chance—a stroke of luck in the grand scheme of things. Regardless of their contrasting personalities, knowing someone from the get-go had been comforting.

It was an even greater stroke of luck that they ended up being friends.

“Hey! I attend _sometimes_.”

“I have no idea how the _fuck_ you got this far, Jaemin.”

“Natural smarts,” Jaemin says, tapping on his temple with a grin. “Anyways, go have a good _fuckin’_ time, asshole! And come visit us more! You’re a fuckin’ _riot_. You know that?”

“_Do_ I know that?” Before Jaemin can reply, he’s being pulled in some other direction, disappearing into the crowd of bodies. “God. He can never sit still.”

“Can _anyone _sit still at a party?”

Jeno isn’t _social_—he’s the first one to admit that. But the campus is small, and he somewhat prides himself on knowing the facts of _most_ people who attend parties. This face is decidedly _not_ familiar. He leans against the bar, beer in hand. His smile is _dangerous_ in the sort of way that makes Jeno curious, though not enough to stick around. He walks forward towards the crowd, though a hand around his arm stops him.

“I’m Mark Lee.”

“You’re not from here.” Alcohol fuzzes and blurs and destroys the edges of Jeno’s filter. “Where’re you from?”

“The big university about an hour away,” Mark says with a grin. “I’m guessing you go here?”

“_Smart_,” bites out Jeno with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t know—what gave me away? The asking who you are?”

“Hey. I gave you _my_ name. What’s yours?”

“… Jeno Lee.”

“Jeno, eh?” Mark smiles before letting go and walking towards the crowd. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jeno Lee. Maybe I’ll see you out there.”

Before Jeno can say anything else, Mark is swallowed by the crowd.

He’ll admit it. Jeno is intrigued. This Mark character is a mystery in a way that no one else on campus is. There’s something nice and homey about a small campus, though there’s also something _suffocating_. It’s the lack of variety, Jeno thinks. If you know one person, you probably know them all, he realizes. There’s nothing _exciting_ or _fascinating_ about a small campus. Not in the same way that a big university pulls you into masses of unfamiliar people on loud nights.

“Mark Lee,” Jeno mutters under his breath. “Huh.”

Warm bodies are uncomfortable, pressed up against him as he surges forward through the crowd. He thinks, in the distance, he can see Lucas above the heads that surround him. Jeno’s sure that Donghyuck is with him. Not that Jeno is _looking for_ Donghyuck. Jeno isn’t really sure _what_ he’s doing at this point, if he’s being honest.

Bodies enclose him and he struggles to finish his drinks, though eventually manages to do so as he continues to weave through the people, head bopping to the beat. No one tries to stop him, what with everyone so deeply caught up in their own world. Jeno likes it, though, being an unfamiliar face in a crowd. The population of partygoers is dynamic. Of course, there are individuals who tend to frequent the same fraternity. Jeno is one of those. There are also those who flit between the houses freely, only tied down for the briefest of moments by a short hook up or someone who caught their eye.

Jeno just likes free, cheap alcohol and forgetting the stress of the week.

A hand is raised in greeting and Jeno slows to a stop, squinting against the neon lights that periodically blind him. “Who.”

“What a way to greet me, Jeno,” snorts Chenle with a roll of his eyes. “It’s me, fuckwad!” His voice cuts over the music and Jeno grins, shaking his head.

“Chenle! It’s been a while. What’s good?”

“_Yeah_, it’s been a while, fucker. I’m clearly _fine_. What’s up with you?”

“Free of momentary exam hell,” Jeno says, throwing his hands in the air. With it goes his empty cup and can. Someone shouts in the distance and he’s quick to push Chenle back into the crowd.

“Still as fucking chaotic as ever, I see.” Chenle’s grin is wicked in a friendly sort of way that relaxes Jeno’s shoulders. “Good to have you back out here, man.”

“Where’s your new boy?”

“Don’t be bitter,” Chenle shouts with a laugh. “You still have the privilege of being my _first_ boyfriend here.”

“I don’t want that privilege.”

“Well, you have it anyways!” As if on command, a new face appears, grin face-splitting. They’re resting their cheek against Chenle’s arm, eyes blinking against the strobing lights. “Jeno, this is Yangyang.”

“Nice to meet you, man.”

“Yangyang, this is Jeno.”

“No fuckin’ way!” shouts Yangyang over the music. “_You’re_ the infamous Jeno?”

“Infamous? What the _fuck_ does that mean?” He turns his gaze towards Chenle, who feigns an innocent look. “What bullshit have you been spitting, Chenle?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Chenle says with a grin. “_Anyways_, who’s that stranger staring at you from over there? Someone new?”

Jeno feels dizzy when he spins around to find the _new face_ that Chenle gestures at. He’s lacking the focus, though, and only steadies when Yangyang places his hands on his shoulders and points. Jeno should’ve expected it to be Mark Lee. He doesn’t know _why_ he didn’t expect it to be Mark Lee. But it is indeed Mark Lee.

_Mark Lee_.

Jeno is half drunk. Nearly all the way there; steps unsteady until he’s colliding with Mark with a grin. And Mark is pretty, with wide eyes and a grin that’s so unsettling Jeno thinks he _needs_ to know what’s going on up in his pretty head. Not that he can really parse anything out in his head right now. All he cares about is _Mark_. A pretty stranger in a dingy basement staring back at him while Soundcloud remixes of the Top 40 songs of the week play in the background.

It’s so far from being anything _close_ to romantic, that Jeno wants to laugh.

He doesn’t, though.

“Jeno Lee. Why am I surprised to see you here?”

“You shouldn’t be,” Jeno says, pushing Mark backwards, towards the stairwell. Muffling the music has something of a sobering effect on Jeno. Or at least he _thinks_ it does. It doesn’t, really. He’s still just as drunk, fingers clenching the front of Mark’s t-shirt. He wants to laugh. How didn’t he notice the other school’s insignia on the front?

“If you keep pushing me, I’m gonna crack my skull open. I’m less drunk than you, but not enough to walk backwards up the stairs, Jeno.”

“You’re pretty. Did you know that?” babbles Jeno as Mark tugs them up the stairs.

“So I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

“You. Approximately twenty times in the last five minutes.”

“Oh.” Jeno smiles to himself, shrugging. “Glad I told you.”

Time moves funny when you’re drunk, Jeno decides. It moves at an uneven rate, though he recognizes it’s just his mind playing games—choosing to remember different details; taking rests intermittently. He wishes it wouldn’t, though. He wishes he hadn’t chosen to be _this_ drunk tonight, blinking and coming back to a picture of Mark, grinning, Jeno’s fingers tangled in his hair.

“You’re _so_ pretty.”

“Thank you,” Mark says, voice hoarse. “That’s the highest of compliments coming from you.”

“We should go back to my place,” Jeno mumbles, pulling back to stare around the empty room. Abandoned coats are scattered everywhere, and one of those is probably his. Not that he’ll ever get it back after tonight.

“You’re a _little_ drunk.” Mark laughs at Jeno’s frown.

He _knows_ he’s a little drunk. Jeno _chose_ to drink all that gin, anyways, with the _express_ decision of getting drunk out of his fucking mind. He didn’t think he would meet Mark.

“’M not _that_ drunk.”

“You’re _pretty_ drunk,” says Mark, leaning backwards. Jeno follows him backwards to press their lips together. It’s nice. Mark tastes like mangos and cheap beer in a way that Jeno _knows_ would be absolutely disgusting if he was perfectly sober. But he’s not, so he doesn’t really care. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around again. Hopefully when you’re _not_ as drunk.”

“You don’t _go_ here, though,” whines Jeno.

“I’ll come back if it means I get to see you again.”

“Good,” Jeno mumbles against his lips. “Wanna make out again.”

Mark laughs and Jeno, through his absolutely drunk haze, feels his heart sink a little before he seals it away. It’s nice, he lets himself think. Nothing more, nothing less.

He hopes to see Mark again next week.

Donghyuck’s touch is light as he brushes the eyeshadow across Jeno’s lids, humming in self-satisfaction as he leans back. A gentle tap to Jeno’s jaw prompts him to open his eyes and trail his gaze from his friend to the mirror that sits on the desk, propped up precariously on a haphazard stack of textbooks that Jeno doesn’t particularly care to think about.

“You just need mascara,” Donghyuck mutters, turning to rummage through his bag.

In the mirror, Jeno watches Yukhei scroll through his phone, body much too long for the twin beds. Renjun is curled up beside him, eyes closed as he waits for Donghyuck to finish. Jeno can’t pretend to understand their dynamics, but he appreciates them anyways. They love Donghyuck nearly as much as Jeno does, though he admits that it’s a tall order to love his best friend as much as he does.

The mascara wand close to his eyes will always strike some primal fear deep in Jeno’s heart, though he knows that Donghyuck would never _purposefully_ hurt him. Not with makeup, anyways. Flinching, he leans back, movement thwarted by Donghyuck’s grip on the back of his neck. He knows that they’re nearly done and there’s no reason for him to be restless. He is, anyways.

“It’s _lowkey_,” Donghyuck says with a sniff, turning Jeno’s head towards the mirror again.

It isn’t _Jeno’s_ definition of lowkey, but it’s decidedly less than it was last time, Jeno decides. The flecks of glitter under his eyelid do little to detract from the sparkling auburn brushed across his lids. Regardless, it looks good. Jeno _always_ looks good when Donghyuck does his makeup. Behind them, Renjun lifts his head, swallowing a yawn in favor of clambering off the bed.

His arms encircle Donghyuck’s shoulders as he leans forward to press kisses to his forehead. “Can you do mine too, baby?”

“Sure thing. Yukhei?”

“Just throw some eyeliner on me before we go,” Yukhei murmurs noncommittally, tossing his phone to the side. “If you wanna go all out, that’s fine, too. Are we aiming to get there for opening?”

“I want to try this new blue eyeshadow I bought with Jeno the other day at the mall. We’re never in any rush, anyways. Your brothers always let us in through the back door,” Donghyuck says with a shake of his head. “Jeno, go grab the Burnett’s from the freezer. I think we have cranberry juice for a chaser. Or mixer. Whatever we’re feeling.”

Wrinkling his nose, Jeno nods, puttering over to the minifridge the school provides them with. It’s always a process, prying open the small freezer compartment. Eventually he does, and the door closes easier than it opened. His head jerks towards the sound of glass clinking, watching as Yukhei pulls the shot glasses down from the bookshelves.

He holds his hands out for the vodka and Jeno is more than happy to hand off the frozen bottle in favor of collecting the miscellaneous cups he had washed just hours ago to fill them with cranberry juice.

Burnett’s never goes down the way that Jeno thinks it did the last time. There’s something different about every shot, and he shudders as he’s quick to follow it with juice. It doesn’t fully remove the bitter sting of the cheap alcohol, and Yukhei’s grinning as he fills the shot glass again.

“How fucked up’re you trying to get?” Yukhei asks, watching as Jeno throws the shot back.

“Enough to forget that I have other responsibilities to take care of,” admits Jeno, voice muffled by his cup. The laughter he receives in response bounces off the cinderblock walls, and he swallows a grimace as he watches Renjun knock back his own shot and then Donghyuck’s. “Hyuck. Want a mixed drink instead?”

“Yeah.”

“Strong?” Yukhei interjects, already pouring vodka into a glass of juice.

“Why not,” Donghyuck answers absently, more focused on deciding between lavender or gold for Renjun. He presses a kiss to Yukhei’s cheek in thanks before raising his head all the way. “Hm. Renjun, baby. Purple or gold?”

Renjun ponders the offer, rolling a shot glass between his hands as Yukhei fills the other. “I’m feeling gold tonight.”

“You’re always gold to me,” admits Donghyuck, opening a palette.

Jeno cuts himself off at four, content to throw himself onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. The feeling of the alcohol loosening his control is something both familiar and foreign and, much like the Burnett’s, it hits a little different every time. There’s nothing about it that Jeno _hates_—it’s simply a sensation that he’s learned to accept rather than push away.

Yukhei perches on the free desk, kicking his feet while acting out the messages that pop up in his fraternity’s group chat. Jeno half-listens, favoring the sensation of closing his eyes and pretending that the world around him is moving slower than it actually is. Somewhere along the way he falls asleep, woken by Donghyuck pulling at his hands.

“Let’s _go_, Jeno.”

“I’m _up_.”

“Yeah, _now_ you are,” Donghyuck gripes, pushing him towards the door. There’s a mediocre scuffle as Jeno struggles to put his shoes on while also leaving their dorm. “Let’s _go_. It’s only thirty after. We should still be able to get juice.”

“Dejun saved us a tray of Jell-O shots, too,” says Yukhei with a dastardly grin. “_And_ he made the juice with some Grey Goose his cousin bought him when he visited this week.”

“Christ,” Renjun replies, wrinkling his nose. “Overkill, don’t you think? Why didn’t he save that for a better occasion?”

“I mean, it’s not like _anyone_ gets the juice from the mixer.” He’s shrugging as he throws his arms around Donghyuck, pressing a sloppy kiss to his temple before leaning over and doing the same to Renjun. Jeno splutters a laugh at the way Renjun’s nose scrunches up, expression troubled before he shakes his head. “Right, Jeno?”

“… Dejun is the guy Jaemin’s with, right?” asks Jeno, tilting his head to the side. The world turns with his action and he stumbles slightly in a desperate attempt to straighten himself.

“_Bingo_!” shouts Yukhei into the open air as they exit the building. “He’s usually late to parties, though. Says it’s a hassle to walk _fifteen minutes_ from his apartment off-campus to the house. I think he’s just a prick who doesn’t wanna help get everything together for the mixers.”

Jeno nods as if everything makes sense to him. And it _should_, really, seeing as Jeno’s _been_ to mixers and closed parties and all sorts of things. It just never sticks.

Alcohol does, though. It spreads through his body as he easily perches himself on the bar counter, and Jeno takes a moment to reflect on how the walk here was something of a blur before the worry seeps from his shoulders. Dejun is refilling his cup more often than Jeno needs, though he doesn’t care; it’s not like he can taste the alcohol anymore.

The dancefloor—Jeno thinks that it’s _loosely_ a dancefloor and more like a basement party gone wrong—is overwhelming, though he finds his body tossed into the fray by Jaemin who winks at him before disappearing behind a flash of strobe lights.

He blinks, and the everything is bright and flashes of cold air rush through the room. It’s quiet and Jeno is alone.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Jeno raises his head. It’s heavy. Not physically, though it feels like it weighs as much as a several ton rock as he squints against the lights of the living room. He’s here, _again_, not that he meant to be. It’s the last place he should be, really. There’s a paper due at five in the evening tomorrow and an exam creeping closer.

Drunk and half-way to passed out on a fraternity’s couch is the last place Jeno should be on a Saturday night, yet here he sits, anyways. There are plenty of other weekends that he could’ve chosen. He’s blinking and humming noncommittally as a body joins him on the couch. It dips and he finds his body tipping over until it’s sprawled across the newcomer.

“Hello.”

“You’re pretty fucking out of it, huh? And it’s only one.”

Blinking, Jeno finds himself jumping through mental hoops to focus on the face in front of him, hands pressed to their cheeks without him realizing. He’s still not one hundred percent sure who it is that’s huddled on this piece of shit couch with him, but they _seem_ to know him.

“It’s _late_,” argues Jeno. “Who’re _you_, anyways?”

“Forget me already, baby? I’m hurt,” the man croons. “It’s Mark.”

He leans back to peer at _Mark_ through beer-tinted goggles, not exactly sure that it’s helping him any. It doesn’t help him any, but he swipes his thumb along their bottom lip. A giggle bubbles up his throat as he leans forward, pressing their noses together. “Ah. Mark Lee,” Jeno recounts. “I remember _you_.”

“I’d be hurt if you didn’t,” he answers honestly. “I took me fucking _forever_ to get here, and you weren’t even here last week. I was disappointed.”

“School. You know,” slurs Jeno, shrugging. “It’s what I’m _here for_, after all.”

“Sad. I figured that you were here for me.”

Mark’s hand runs through Jeno’s hair, pushing stubborn hair away from his forehead for the briefest of moments before it settles back against his skin, a sweeping sensation that startles him. Laughing, Mark leans forward, pressing the smallest of kisses to the corner of Jeno’s mouth, testing the waters. The ball is in Jeno’s court, even if it isn’t _really_. He likes pretending it is, anyways.

“Didn’t think you’d come back,” he admits, “because you don’t go here. Figured it was a one-time thing.”

Humming, Mark’s hands rest on Jeno’s waist, pulling him onto his lap. “Why wouldn’t I come back when I know you’re here waiting?” His tone is teasing and Jeno can’t tell if he likes it or not. Not that it’s the most pressing thing at the moment, anyways.

Jeno, in return, shrugs, content to run his hand through Mark’s hair. It’s dry, and Jeno realizes, belatedly, that it’s a new color. Some odd mix of blue and green that’s much too bright, even in the dingy fluorescent lighting of the fraternity house living room. He hums before leaning forward, pressing his lips to Mark’s lightly before pulling back.

“Why so chaste?” asks Mark softly. “You were so eager last time.”

“I _am_,” Jeno murmurs against Mark’s lips.

“You look so fucking pretty tonight.” Mark’s hand cups the back of his neck, massaging his muscles. Jeno, for all it’s worth, feels like the prettiest fucking man in the whole entire world—figures that he might very well be with the way that Mark looks at him. “Fucking hell, Jeno Lee. You know, I’ve been thinking of you since I met you.”

“Funny.”

Jeno leans forward, slotting his lips against Mark’s. There’s something childish about it all—the way that Mark is hesitant, tender in a place that he shouldn’t be, in a way that he shouldn’t be. It’s clear enough to Jeno that Mark isn’t used to this; that Mark doesn’t know how this whole hook-up thing doesn’t work. He isn’t all that upset about that, though. Jeno thinks that he’ll learn quickly enough.

Until then, Jeno is more than happy to sit on Mark’s lap in the living room of a fraternity, boozed the fuck out of his mind.

Leaning back, Mark furrows his brow in confusion, breaking out of his own stupor. “And why’s that funny?”

“Well, Mark Lee,” Jeno whispers, “you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself, won’t you?”

“Jeno! Let’s get going!”

Turning around in Mark’s lap, he smiles at Donghyuck, who stands, impatient, in the doorway. “On my way.”

“You wanna come out tonight?”

Jeno nods, flipping a page of his textbook. It’s not like he has anything better to do at this point. A nod isn’t enough for Donghyuck, though, who grabs him by the shoulder, shaking him. “Yes, I want to go out tonight.”

“Nice,” Donghyuck beams as he turns back to his mirror, “that’s what I wanted to hear from you. It’s fun having you out with us. I don’t know what changed, but I like this Jeno.”

“I’m glad _you_ like this Jeno. I don’t think my grades do,” mutters Jeno, closing his textbook.

Waving a hand, Donghyuck laughs. They both know that Jeno never goes out without finishing whatever he has to do for his classes. Knowledge, Jeno thinks, refuses to simply flow from his mind, even when drunk. “Well, I think I’m more important than some exam you won’t even remember in a few years.”

“In a few hours if the alcohol is strong enough.”

“What color are you feeling tonight?” Donghyuck asks, turning towards Jeno.

Lately, Jeno thinks, he’s been feeling very _orange_, though he isn’t sure how to explain it. So he takes the bag that Donghyuck offers him, digging through until he pulls out the Pat McGrath Mothership II: Sublime palette. It’s the only one that Jeno _knows_, the name burnt into his memory from spending so much fucking money on Donghyuck for his birthday.

It was worth it, he thinks, seeing his friend’s face when he opened the package. His wallet, and the endless bowls of ramen he ate to afford it, argue otherwise. Not that Jeno cares.

They fall into a comfortable silence, Jeno’s eyes closed as Donghyuck works _literal_ magic. And there’s something therapeutic about it, listening to Donghyuck talk about his day while he brushes bronzes and golds across Jeno’s eyelids. In the dorms beside them, the walls pulse with the bass of music that Jeno only likes when he’s drunk enough to _feel_ music rather than hear it.

“It looks nice,” Donghyuck murmurs, watching as the door opens. “You look nice, Jeno.” Jeno doesn’t need to glance into a mirror to know that Donghyuck’s talent has once again made him _presentable_. He settles for pinching Donghyuck’s ear affectionately.

“Oh?” Yukhei teases, standing in the doorway of their dorm. “Mr. School-First is joining us _again_ this weekend?”

Jeno wrinkles his nose as he turns around to face Yukhei. “No Renjun this week?”

“Nah.” Yukhei waves a hand, not moving away from the doorway. “He’s staying in to finish an assignment. And I would head over with you guys, but I need to be there for the mixer. Sober monitor tonight.”

Leaning on his arms, Jeno nods. It’s not like he’s going out to get drunk, anyways. That’s never the intention, even if it’s always the outcome. Part of him wishes that Renjun were coming with them, though Jeno knows that he’ll just end up hiding in Yukhei’s room with Donghyuck for half the night, anyways.

“Rough,” Jeno murmurs into his arms.

“It’s only rough if people get rowdy.” Running his fingers through his hair, Yukhei looks troubled for the briefest of moments before shrugging his shoulders. “So, don’t get rowdy, Jeno Lee.”

It’s hard to control himself, and Jeno finds himself rolling his eyes before he can stop. “When am _I_ the rowdy one? Donghyuck’s the one who broke the strobe lights last weekend.”

Whirling around, Donghyuck clutches an eyeshadow palette to his chest. He has half-a mind to look scandalized as Jeno and Yukhei both offer unimpressed glances in response to his theatrics. “Jeno! You said you wouldn’t tell Yukhei!”

“I knew that already,” replies Yukhei with a laugh. “Everyone saw you take them out with your arms, baby. It also unplugged the speakers.” Donghyuck hides his face in a valiant effort to mask his shame, though all it results in is Yukhei ruffling his hair before strolling back out the door. “I’ll see you both at the house. Don’t be late or you’ll miss all the juice.”

Donghyuck’s laptop lights up, brightening their small room. He’s furiously typing away, not sparing Yukhei a glance. “And that’s a _bad_ thing?”

“Maybe not for _you_. I’ll see you both.”

“See ya.” Jeno’s salute feels a little mocking, two fingers tapping against his forehead before he’s flinging them Yukhei’s way.

He’s not sure _what_ Donghyuck is up to on his laptop, though he assumes that it’s better he _doesn’t_ know. Instead, he finds it in himself to feebly drag his body to his bed to shut his eyes until Donghyuck feels ready to go. And it’s better that way, Jeno thinks, closing his eyes. The sound of Donghyuck typing is entrancing, and it threatens to pull him to sleep.

“Jeno Lee, wake up this fucking _minute_.”

“I’m not even _asleep_.”

Donghyuck is huffing, throwing things around the room before tossing his body onto the bed, landing on top of Jeno. It feels as if all the wind has left his lungs as Jeno curls into a ball. His body is desperate to escape Donghyuck’s onslaught, though it doesn’t get all that far.

There’s a moment between them, where Donghyuck stares into Jeno’s eyes, and Jeno is _sure_ that Donghyuck understands him. He always has, he thinks, until he doesn’t, though the latter is a technicality and the byproduct of such a binary way to categorize their friendship—moments that Donghyuck understands him and moments that he doesn’t.

And Jeno knows that it’s much more complicated than that. There are moments where Donghyuck tries, and doesn’t get very far, and moments where Donghyuck tries, and almost succeeds. Jeno thinks that it’s really the effort that matters, and Donghyuck is the one who tries to understand Jeno, even when he can’t understand himself.

Which is all of the time, really. Jeno has found himself to exist in this odd in-between where his life doesn’t hold as much direction as he originally thought it would. He knows—knows _very_ well—that it’s a side-effect of his gusto. That going into a situation thinking that you know what you’re going to do when you _don’t_ almost _guarantees_ becoming lost on the journey. And Jeno?

Jeno is very, very lost.

Following routine once held direction without meaning, and now it holds nothing. He’s not sure where there _is_ to go when everything you one believed in was shattered. And it’s dramatic of him, and he _knows_, so he holds it close to his chest. For a boy who seems to know everything, though, he knows so little.

“Yeah, well, you _seem_ like you are,” grumbles Donghyuck, pulling him up from the bed. “What goes on up here,” he taps Jeno’s forehead, “these days, Jeno Lee?”

“Nothing,” Jeno replies, swatting away his hand. “Absolutely _nothing_.”

Donghyuck’s eyes crinkle as he shakes his head, turning away to hide his smile. “At the moment, sure. But what about everyday Jeno? What goes on in _his_ head?”

“How well I need to do on the final to pass with a C,” deadpans Jeno, honest.

“Oh, fuck _off_.” Donghyuck is rummaging through his closet as he speaks. His voice is muffled by the clothes, and Jeno debates on whether to tell Donghyuck this or not. “You’re going to pass with flying fucking colors and _both_ of us know this.”

Before Donghyuck can stop him, Jeno flops his body back onto the bed. “Not if I keep getting drunk every weekend like I have been,” he mumbles under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Jeno! Sit _up_! You’re gonna fall asleep before I’m ready to go and then I’m gonna have to walk over on my _own_.”

“You’re out of your mind,” says Jeno, staring at the ceiling. “Yukhei would kill me.”

“Well then let’s _go_.”

When the door closes behind them, Jeno blinks.

He only counted up to nine hundred seventy-five.

Donghyuck sways with the music, arms clamped around Jeno’s like a lifeline, as they sweep through the crowded basement. There’s barely room to breathe, though Jeno doesn’t care anymore—wears the humidity like his Sunday best. There are probably better ways to spend his Saturdays. Jeno is _sure_ that there are, though he can’t help but feel the pull of the heart-shattering bass in his lungs every week.

He wonders where Yukhei has run off to, depositing his drunk boyfriend in Jeno’s arms before weaving himself back into the crowd towards his final destination. Jeno _assumes _that Yukhei’s headed for the bar, though he’s learned, through the years, that it’s in his best interest to skip the assumptions and wait for confirmation.

“There’s your boy,” Donghyuck whispers into his ear.

Jeno wants to scoff—_does_ scoff—because _what_ boy? Jeno doesn’t _have_ a boy; what he _does_ have is three shots of cheap vodka coursing through his veins, chased with sugar-free juice that did nothing but leave a terrible taste on the back of his tongue. Jeno doesn’t have a boy, but he knows who Donghyuck is talking about; lets his body get shoved away, stumbling like a newborn child until he’s in a pair of familiar arms he’s been so _fucking_ blessed to call a place to rest every weekend.

“Fancy meeting you here,” teases Mark.

Rolling his eyes, Jeno digests the butterflies that come to life in his stomach and wraps his arms around Mark’s neck. There are moments to think, and moments to act, and Jeno might not get it right every time, but he thinks he gets it right when it matters. Like around Mark.

It’s second nature to tangle his fingers in Mark’s hair; pull him closer and offer the most chaste of kisses in a non-verbal greeting. There’s a dichotomy between the Jeno of the day and the Jeno of the night, and it’s all much more dramatic sounding than it really is, particularly as the lines continue to blur further and further as the days go on. Jeno wonders if it’s a by-product of the shift into deep fall, the cold sinking her miserable fingers deeper and deeper into his mind.

“Get a room!” someone shouts.

Turning his head, Jeno meets Chenle’s teasing gaze. “Are you offering up yours?” asks Jeno with a grin.

Chenle’s laugh trails behind him as he’s tugged away, Yangyang’s equally insufferable grin disappearing into the bar area. Not that even Jeno cares, preoccupied by Mark’s lips on his neck. They murmur things that Jeno can’t even pretend to hear; leave marks that he hopes will last for weeks. There’s something satisfying about being in Mark’s arms every week, pressing him against a wall or a cheap couch cushion or, even better, his bed.

Jeno isn’t picky—not anymore, anyways.

He’s not picky as he holds Mark’s face in his hands and slots their lips together, licking along the back of Mark’s teeth and the roof of his mouth; relishing in the way their chests heave for air against one another, as if battling for a hot commodity. And oxygen might as well be one, what with the humidity that builds in the basement.

Time is something that becomes irrelevant in fraternity basements. There’s no sense of how much has passed, whether it moves fast or slow. It’s as if they’ve entered an unevenly flowing timeline. Jeno doesn’t find that he really minds, though; takes the cold beer that Renjun presses against the back of his neck while he walks by. The sound of it opening is satisfying, and he presses the cold can against his face as he rests his cheek against Mark’s shoulder.

“It’s been nice,” Mark says, fingers curling in Jeno’s hair, “to see you here every weekend. Are you trying to convince me to transfer?”

“Is it working?” teases Jeno, pressing his lips to Mark’s jaw. “I might just have that kind of effect, you know.”

“I’ll admit, you make this campus seem more like a home than mine does.”

Jeno hums against Mark’s lips and debates the outcome of telling Mark not to take things too seriously. He’s not sure if Mark understands properly—that Mark _knows_ that even if this isn’t a one-time thing, Jeno doesn’t like leaving strings attached. There’s a sort of desperation, he thinks, to keep himself free-floating.

It’s a light joke that Jeno is on the straight-and-narrow; that his has his priorities set firmly and well, leaving partying for the afterburner. Born from the absolute fucking _shit-show_ that was his first year, accompanied by the stick in the mud he was his second year; he likes to think that he’s found some sort of middle-ground.

“Why don’t you just _come here_, then?” Jeno purrs, smiling as Mark laughs.

“Right. Transfer in the middle of my senior year. Are you trying to sabotage me, Jeno Lee?”

Humming, Jeno shrugs before pushing himself into a sitting position. “I’m not sure. _Am_ I? Why would I want to do that?” He holds Mark’s face in his hands as he smiles. “I could just _ask_ you to say and you’d stay for me, wouldn’t you?”

“I hate to say you’re right.”

“I _love_ to hear it, though,” Jeno murmurs, pressing a kiss against Mark’s cheek. “God, do I _love_ to hear it.”

“You’re powerful. Do you know that?”

There’s the smallest of smiles as Jeno nods. He _knows_ his power; feels drunker on it than the cheap vodka he downed for a messy night. It’s something that he wields cavalier, unconcerned with the consequences of looking up from beneath his lashes and watching people lose their breath. “Only for you,” Jeno semi-lies. It’s not a whole un-truth, he admits to himself, because Mark is indeed the only one who he cares to look at; the only one whose breath he wants to steal.

There are implications to his own words that Jeno isn’t quite ready to unravel yet. Not that there’s ever going to be a need to. Behind him, Donghyuck calls his name, barely discernable over the suffocating music.

“Well, Mark Lee, that seems to be my cue.”

Mark’s gaze holds something and Jeno isn’t ready—will never _be_ ready, probably—to decode what it is. Jeno presses his lips against Mark’s one more time; slots them together and relishes in the taste of cheap beer and cherry chapstick, before pulling back, eyes bright. There’s a moment before Jeno tosses himself into Donghyuck’s waiting arms, listening to his best friend’s giddy laughter.

Donghyuck reaches over the bar to tap Jeno on the temple. They’re not _supposed_ to be here—not yet, anyways. There are still hours before the fraternity house opens, though they find themselves sequestered in the basement on their own, laughter filling the empty spaces of the rooms. Eventually they situate themselves in the bar area, Donghyuck standing at the edge while Jeno picks at the cracking paint farther down. There’s a space between them, though it’s only physical.

“What’s going on up in that head of yours lately, Jeno?” Donghyuck’s smile is a little bit teasing, a little bit worried, and Jeno isn’t sure how to solve that. “You’re out and about more often than I am.”

“Yeah! Getting shit-face drunk and making out with a boy!” shouts Yukhei from the doorway of the bar. His arms are full of _something_ that looks suspiciously like buckets of foam, and Jeno tries to resist the urge to frown. It crosses his face, anyways.

“I _told_ you it was a foam party, and you just didn’t listen to me, now _did_ you, Jeno Lee?”

“When does he _ever_ listen to any of us?” Renjun’s arms wrap around Donghyuck’s waist, effectively halting his attempts to pinch Jeno’s cheeks. “If your reply is never, you’re right. If your reply if _sometimes_, I will attempt to persuade you to reevaluate your analyses.”

Jeno leans his head on his hand with a laugh. “Still in big brain mode, I see.”

Resting his chin on Donghyuck’s shoulder, Renjun huffs out the smallest of sighs. It’s adorable, Jeno thinks, if you remove the dark circles under his eyes and the borderline-manic look in his eyes. “It’s hard to move my brain out of that space once it’s in it. That’s why I tend not to come to parties after I finish an assignment. There’s not much space left in my brain for the day.”

“You don’t need that much brain power to party, I don’t think. Hell, I think Jeno cranked out an entire fucking essay before this and he’s doing _fine_.”

“Jeno doesn’t have a brain to begin with,” Renjun retorts with a roll of his eyes. “He’s been out here every weekend, and more, the past two months getting shit-faced drunk and making out with some kid from another university. Remember how he used to roll his eyes at us and tell us to fuck off?”

“Not _every _weekend, and definitely not more.”

Renjun falls quiet, though not because he’s disproven. Rather, he scrolls languidly through his phone, body jerking to the side as Yukhei makes his appearance, pinching Renjun in the side. It’s minutes before he’s sliding his phone over the bar towards Jeno.

What he sees is barely familiar. It’s a memory that isn’t quite missing, though it’s really only present in fragments. Bits and tiny pieces that don’t put together a full story. Jeno really only knows it’s him from the button-up he wears in the photo—a gift from Donghyuck. He barely conceals his grimace as he pushes the phone back towards Renjun, pointedly looking away.

“You planning on getting that drunk tonight, too?”

“Don’t think my head could handle that,” Jeno mutters, shaking his head. The movement is jarring, and Jeno wonders if, nearly twenty-four hours later, he’s still drunk from last night. He knows it’s impossible, but his body still feels like it is. “It’s a sober night for me, boys.”

“… _Right_,” Yukhei says, pushing back from the bar, “if we’re done listening to Jeno lie right to our faces, I’m gonna go finish helping out with the house. Anyone wanna join me?”

“I’ll come.” Renjun unlatches himself from Donghyuck, unwillingly. There’s a pause where he presses a kiss to Donghyuck’s lips, chaste, before wrapping his arm around Yukhei’s and following him out. “Behave, you two.”

Snorting, Jeno rolls his eyes. “We _always_ behave.”

The silence that falls between them is comfortable, though there’s an air of _something_ that Jeno can’t separate out. It’s there in Donghyuck’s gaze, also, as he stares at Jeno, careful—like Jeno will break if he speaks. The careful toeing around things is not like them, though Jeno thinks it’s probably something inconsequential, like Donghyuck saying he wants to move out and in with Renjun for their senior year or complaining about Jeno not being quiet when he comes back.

“So.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jeno nods. “So?”

“Tell me.”

“About?”

“This boy. The boy.” Donghyuck whispers like a conspirator, and Jeno smiles at the gesture. “You know… the boy you keep meeting up with. The boy you _kicked me out of our dorm for._”

“Which I’m still sorry about, by the way.”

Donghyuck is rounding the bar to grab Jeno by the shoulders, shaking his friend back and forth. “No! No, do not apologize. You’ve been _happy_ lately thanks to him. Reckless, sure, but you’ve also been _happy_. Sure, we can _all_ cut back on the alcohol consumption, you know. You’re not special.”

When Jeno looks in Donghyuck’s eyes, he knows that part of it is a lie—that Donghyuck probably _does_ want him to cut back on the alcohol consumption. Jeno can’t blame him, because he knows that part of him has gotten out of control. Only a small part, though. Small enough that he still wakes up in the morning and doesn’t feel like the biggest piece of shit out there. He just feels like _a_ piece of shit.

“And why does it matter if I’m happy?”

“I just…” Donghyuck leans forward, their noses almost touching as he whispers. “Do you, like, _like_ this guy? What’s his name? Should he get the roommate seal of approval now?”

Jeno pushes Donghyuck’s face away with a laugh. “His name is Mark Lee. He’s just a _guy_, that’s it. Someone I find when I’m drunk because his lips are pretty. Nothing more than that. We’re just fucking around. That’s it.”

Unconvinced, Donghyuck presses his lips together. It bothers Jeno, a little, that Donghyuck looks uncertain, though Jeno clings to his steadily decaying truths for as long as they remain whole pieces in his hands. For as long as Jeno will convince himself, he will hold to his truth that Mark Lee is just a boy and Jeno likes to find him when he’s drunk out of his mind and inhibitions are thrown out of the window. They are fragile truths leaning towards lies, and Jeno cradles them against his chest with firm hands.

“Dejun Xiao!”

A new voice outside of the bar grabs their attention. Donghyuck clings to Jeno’s arm as the world seems to slow. It’s dramatic and it’s stupid and Jeno thinks that some part of his brain is just out to get him as an unfamiliar face enter his view, followed by one that Jeno knows all too well. Mark Lee stands there, hand linked with the unfamiliar man’s hand, swinging back and forth as they stand there. Jeno thinks that the look Mark gives this person is blinding.

Desperate, Jeno pulls Donghyuck down behind the bar, palm pressed to Donghyuck’s mouth in an attempt to stifle his friend’s questions. He’ll answer them, he thinks, when they’re gone.

“Kunhang Wong. I thought you said you weren’t coming this weekend?” Dejun’s voice is even and soft; fading in and out as the noise of preparations ebbs and wanes. “Do you need somewhere to put your things?”

“If you don’t mind.” A pause. “Ah, this is Mark Lee.”

“Yeah.” Dejun pauses, raising an eyebrow. “A familiar face. Jaemin is staying with me this weekend, so you can toss his things in his room. Yukhei isn’t sleeping here this weekend, either, so there’s really no need to worry. You two can both stay in there.”

A silence passes between them, and Jeno tries his hardest to ignore Donghyuck’s probing stare.

“Well,” Jeno whispers to himself, crouching behind the bar. “That’s that, then.”

Donghyuck reaches out, grabbing his hand. He squeezes it once, twice, before nodding. “That’s that.”

Jeno pretends to sigh, dramatic, the back of his free hand pressed to his forehead. “Whatever will I do without a boy to fuck around with?”

“Oh, shut up.” Donghyuck pushes him before standing up. His tone is biting, though Jeno can see the flash of worry in his gaze. One that Jeno wishes would disappear. “Wanna head to the diner?”

“Sure.”

And Jeno doesn’t know—can’t predict the way his mind will start to spiral, and the way that sleep will evade him. In the darkness of the fraternity house bar he realizes, far too late, that maybe what he felt for Mark Lee wasn’t so heartless after all. Across the room, with the bass starting to boom, Jeno watches Mark laugh.

Kunhang Wong is a lucky guy.

Slouching, Jeno watches as Donghyuck leans his head on his hand. There’s a conversation that’s died somewhere on their way from the entrance of the dining hall to the table where the only thing that sits there is a sandwich, cut in half. It’s a Wednesday, and Jeno wishes that it was Friday. There are a million and one things to do between now and then, and Jeno wishes that there _wasn’t_.

That’s just not how university works, though.

“Yukhei has this friend named Yuqi. She needs a date to her formal. You down?”

He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Why _me_?”

“Why _not_ you? You think she’s pretty, don’t you? And who are _you_ to turn down free alcohol?” asks Donghyuck, raising an eyebrow mockingly. “Let’s be honest with ourselves here, Jeno.”

The smallest of sighs slips past Jeno’s lips and Donghyuck already knows he’s won. “When is it?”

“This weekend,” Donghyuck replies, reaching for his half of the sandwich. His smile is much too wide for Jeno’s liking, but he lets it happen, shaking his head. “It’s a _formal_, but we both know you can just go in a nice button-up and slacks. I’ll do your makeup.”

"You don't have to. Actually, my skin probably needs a break," Jeno replies, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully. "It's not used to having makeup on it so often. I never wear it when I'm home, you know."

Donghyuck reaches forward, pinching Jeno's cheek thoughtfully before he nods. "We'll walk through my skincare routine tonight before bed, yeah? Your skin is looking pretty rough, so I think it'll be good for you, whether you decide to continue it or not."

"It's _expensive,_ isn't it?"

"A little. I admit that I usually need to, uh, take extra shifts sometimes when I'm running low on my facewash or toner." Donghyuck waves a dismissive hand before reaching out for his phone. They steep in silence as Donghyuck taps away on his phone before standing, arms waving in the air. It's not long before Renjun appears, looking no worse for the wear. "Hey."

"Hey."

Renjun, Jeno thinks, always sounds breathless when he sees Donghyuck. Jeno _gets_ it—Donghyuck is stunning in a way that normal people are not. Yukhei reacts the same way, as well. Breathless and starstruck and silent in a way that Jeno thinks he'll never make someone feel. Not that he cares, anyways. He looks away as Renjun leans down, pressing a kiss to Donghyuck's lips. It's chaste and it's simple, but it feels intimate in a way that Jeno doesn't want to intrude on.

Instead, he stares out the window, making eye contact with Yeeun, who jumps in the air, waving with her entire body. Jeno offers a simple wave in return, which forces a frown onto her face. Laughing, he watches as she flips him the bird before crossing the street to enter the school union building.

Maybe he'll visit her during her shift at the coffeeshop.

"Hey, Jeno."

"Renjun. What's up?"

"Hyuck says that you agreed to going to formal with Yuqi?" he asks, stepping out of the way for Donghyuck, who slides off the bench before wandering towards the food.

Conversing with Renjun is always a different experience, and Jeno isn't sure if this one will be good or bad. He hopes that it'll work smoothly, but he already senses an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he meets Renjun's gaze. Regardless, he smiles and nods. "Yeah, I did. It's pretty low commitment, yeah?"

"Low commitment, but also, Yukhei will kick your fucking ass if anything happens to Yuqi during formal. She's like his sister, so be careful, yeah?" Renjun leans his head on his hand as he reaches for Donghyuck's cup of coffee to take a sip. It's thoughtful in a way that is _very_ Renjun. "Donghyuck and I can only do so much to protect you from Yukhei's wrath."

"It's just formal, though?" asks Jeno, tilting his head to the side.

"_Just_ formal? Fuck, right—I forgot you haven't been to a formal before." He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking up to Donghyuck, who returns with a bowl of soup. "Hyuck. He hasn't been to a formal before."

"Oh." Falling silent, Donghyuck shrugs before realizing he forgot a spoon. "I'll be right back. Just, you know. Give Jeno the down-low on formals, I guess."

Renjun watches Donghyuck stroll off before turning to Jeno with a dead-serious expression and saying, "Everyone gets shit-faced drunk, does stupid shit, and dies the next day."

"Okay, so it's _no_ different from when I usually go out, right?" Jeno asks, shrugging. "I just can't get _as_ drunk so I can look out for Yuqi, right? No big deal. Sometimes I have to have a sober night to make sure you three don't do stupid shit."

"You called?" asks Yukhei, grin sharp.

Blinking, Jeno shakes his head. "I won't get as drunk as I usually do, and I'll be sure to look out for Yuqi at her formal."

"Oh, shit; you agreed? God, you're the fucking best, Jeno. You're, like, the only one that I trust with her, you know. You won't try anything stupid." Pausing, Yukhei peers at Jeno with narrowed eyes. "Or, I don't _think_ you will, anyways."

"Yuqi's a nice girl, but not really my type," Jeno answers honestly, holding his hands up in front of him. "Besides, she's friends with Yeeun, isn't she? I'm sure she's heard all the stupid shit that I've done from her. I don't need another girl on campus telling every single fucking person under the sun about how fucking stupid I am."

Yukhei throws his head back to laugh, shaking his head. It's funny, but it _isn't_—Jeno's stupidity is how they all ended up meeting, after all. A mishap at the fraternity—Jeno vomiting in the bathroom, Renjun walking in on Donghyuck screaming, Yukhei sprinting in to try to figure out what the fuck went wrong—is the origin story of their time together.

Jeno is both proud and horrified by that moment.

"Okay, but that was pretty fucking funny," Renjun says with a grin. "At least we met you _before_ she went around saying what a fucking shitshow you are."

"You already _knew_ what a shitshow I am by then," replies Jeno, wrinkling his nose. "What the fuck are you even talking about?"

There's the clattering of a spoon as Donghyuck slides into the bench, smile wide. "Are we talking about Jeno and what a shitshow he is?"

"God."

"Yes."

"Yeah."

"Why are we all friends? Why don't I have _other_ friends?" laments Jeno.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes at Jeno's dramatics. He should be used to it by now, and he technically _is_, though it doesn't stop him from getting tired of Jeno's bullshit. "You _do_. You're friends with Jaemin, aren't you? Why don't you hang out with him?"

Jeno isn't actually _sure_. He _thinks_ he knows why—that Jaemin is wild and crazy and never goes to class, and, regardless of how well they get along, Jeno can't handle someone who doesn't prioritize class _some_ of the time. Even if Jaemin passes all his classes without blinking.

Pausing, Jeno thinks that maybe he's just jealous of Jaemin's ability to pass all his classes with flying colors without ever attending.

"Good question. I don't know. Should I see if he wants to hang out instead?"

"Don't. We'll miss you too much," Donghyuck says seriously. "I would be _offended_ if you chose him over us."

"It wouldn't be choosing him over you. It would be more like, uh, you know. Finding other places to spend my time when you three are busy." Jeno shrugs, waving his hands around like it would make any difference before reaching for his half of the sandwich.

If Jeno were being honest, he doesn't really _want_ to branch out. He's comfortable with his social circle as it is, regardless of how small it may seem. If anything, Jeno wishes that it were the slightest bit smaller. Jeno wishes that he didn't become attached to people so easily.

"_Anyways_, Yuqi wants to be _kind of_ matching, you know, so make sure to wear something purple. Do you own something purple?" Yukhei asks, leaning his head on his hand. Everyone collectively turns towards Jeno, who mentally whips through his closet. "Is that a no?"

"That's a no."

"Well," Renjun says, smiling brightly, "let's get going, then!"

"What?"

Yukhei holds up his car keys, jingling them with a wicked smile. "Let's get going, Jeno Lee! It's time to go shopping."

"Wait, wait, wait," Jeno says as he's dragged from the table. "What do you _mean_ let's get going?"

"We're _shopping_, stupid." Donghyuck rolls his eyes before he links his arm with Jeno's. "'Hei, we need to stop by my dorm so we can grab Jeno's wallet. I'm more than willing to pay for a shirt, but Jeno tends to look best in the real expensive shit, and I don't know if I have the means for that."

Jeno allows his body to be dragged across campus, deposited momentarily on his bed while Donghyuck digs through his bag for his wallet before pulling him back out of the room and towards the stadium parking lot. Chenle had told him, when they broke up, that Jeno was too apathetic—too comfortable letting others guide him towards where to go.

He thinks that, perhaps it's true. It doesn't mean that he's going to change.

"It's the least you could do," Jeno says to Donghyuck, wrinkling his nose.

"Yeah, well," replies Donghyuck with a laugh, "maybe next time."

On Saturday morning, Jeno wakes up on a dorm room floor, shirt half unbuttoned and tie nowhere to be seen. Deep in the recesses of his mind he laments the loss—it was expensive, and he had bought it on a whim. Rolling onto his back, he groans, the noise hushing into a hiss as he feels the beginnings of a bruise on his shoulder and hip.

Jeno decides that he doesn’t want to know what he did last night to lead to this condition.

“Sup,” Yuqi says, poking her head over the edge of her bed.

Blinking, Jeno nods. “Hey.”

“You’re fucking wild. Did you know that?” She’s grinning as she sits up. Jeno thinks that if he was in a different lifetime, this is where he would fall for Yuqi. This is not that time, though, even if life would be easier that way. “Thanks for coming, though, by the way. I really appreciate it. Yukhei said you were a cool guy, and he was right.”

“Glad to know he thinks so highly of me,” mutters Jeno, slowly sitting up. Everything fucking _hurts_, and he debates the semantics of just never getting up and allowing himself to rot on the apartment floor. Yuqi probably wouldn’t like that, though. His left leg is left prone, and he pats his knees a few times, thoughtful.

Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she patters towards the bathroom of her apartment before turning on the light. “He really does. Renjun, too. They just give you shit because they know you can handle it, you know,” she says, smile wide. “Yukhei and Donghyuck dropped some clothes off for you this morning. You can shower and then go meet them for a late lunch.”

“You’re a fucking God-send, did you know that?” asks Jeno, groaning. “You gonna join us for lunch?”

“Yeah. Why not, I guess? I’m all good to go, though. I was just waiting for you to rise from the dead.”

“Kind,” Jeno mutters, pushing himself off the ground. “Do you know why I might have bruises?”

“Oh, I’m _pretty_ sure that you got into a fight with some guy who tried to force another drink on me, which was both chivalrous and stupid of you.” Yuqi smiles apologetically as she hands Jeno a towel. “My shampoo smells like strawberries. Sorry about that.”

Ambling towards the bathroom, Jeno shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s better than smelling like cheap beer.”

Yuqi laughs until he closes the door, muffling the sound. Jeno, in the bathroom, alone, takes a moment to examine his appearance. The only conclusion he can come to is that he looks like absolute fucking shit. A bruise blooms on the apple of his cheek, and he’s nervous to reach up and press his fingers to it, hissing at the sensation.

His lips, by some grace of a higher power, are in intact. It’s his body, he realizes, that received the brunt of the beating. It’s arduous, reaching up to unbutton his shirt, and he grimaces at the bruise encapsulating his shoulder. The bruise is accompanied by scrapes and Jeno surmises that whenever he hit the ground, he hit it hard. His hip is in no better shape, and he’s careful as he finishes undressing before stepping under the water.

Any other day—under any other condition—Jeno would celebrate showering after a shitty night out. He can’t today, though. Instead of mulling under the water he’s quick to wash his hair, his face; gently wash his body. The warm water burns, and he squirms under the flow, desperate to find a space that’s comfortable to stand in silence and _think_. Not that there’s anything to think about.

There’s everything to think about, really, though Jeno can’t find it in him to care.

Silence is thick as he turns off the water; smiles at the packaged toothbrush and toothpaste that Yuqi had been kind enough to set out for him. Routine is comfort, though it’s also mindless enough that Jeno’s mind is given space to run. He doesn’t want that.

The bag of clothes that hang on the back of the door is a gentle reminder that his friends worry for him and care for him. He hopes that Yuqi didn’t drag him back to her dorm on her own.

A knocking at the door breaks Jeno from his thoughts.

“Jeno?”

“Hey.”

“We’re gonna meet them at the McDonald’s off-campus. Can you walk that far? Or should I ask Yukhei to pick us up?”

Jeno takes a moment to shift weight onto his left hip, pausing to consider it. “I think he should pick us up.”

“Got it. I’ll let him know. Are you almost ready?” In response, Jeno opens the door. Her smile is delicate as she nods. “Well… you look a little better than before.”

Reaching up, he ruffles his hair, wincing at how wet it still is. Yuqi is quiet as she watches him before inching past him to rummage around in the cabinet under the sink. Moments later, she procures a hair dryer, pushing things around without much of a care to reach the outlet. Touch gentle, she pulls him in front of the sink again before beginning the process of drying his hair. It’s relaxing, and Jeno takes a moment to close his eyes.

The whirring sound stops, and he meets Yuqi’s gaze in the mirror.

“You know,” she says delicately, “life would’ve been so much easier for the both of us if we just fell in love with each other.”

Jeno laughs, hating how bitter it sounds, rattling in his chest, before he’s shrugging and patting her on the head. “Yeah, well, when has life ever gone how we wanted it to?”

Yuqi falls quiet and they stand there until there’s a knocking at the door, Yukhei’s loud voice permeating the cheap wood. “I’ll get the door. Don’t forget to take all your things.” Pausing, she pats the counterspace with a smile. “And you can keep the toothbrush.”

Smiling, he collects his things as the front door opens.

“Jeno! Jeno!” shouts Donghyuck, sprinting into the bathroom. Jeno recoils as Donghyuck holds his face in his hands, turning it side to side. “Oh, fuck, Jeno. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think… Fuck. Does it hurt?”

“A little,” he answers honestly. It’s a lie that Donghyuck immediately sees through.

“Yuqi,” Renjun asks, standing in the doorway, “who hit him?”

She’s shaking her head as she walks into the bathroom. It’s crowded now; small as Yukhei joins them. “I don’t know. I kept trying to get away and eventually Jeno just snapped.”

“Do you think anyone would know?” Yukhei asks. He reaches around Donghyuck to gently swipe at the bruise on his face. “This is fucked up. I’m fucking pissed. What the _fuck_.”

Jeno pushes their hands away with a shake of his head. “It’s fine,” he lies, shouldering past them to leave the bathroom. “It’s not even that bad.”

Gritting his teeth, Jeno tries his hardest to walk straight, ignoring the complaints of his body as he reaches out for his wallet, lonely on Yuqi’s neat and tidy desk. Everything would have been easier, Jeno thinks, if he had lived a different life. He doesn’t have it in him to want to turn back around and try again, though.

“You don’t have to lie,” Donghyuck says, gentle.

“I’m not lying,” Jeno whispers.

“Okay,” interjects Renjun, holding Donghyuck back. “You’re okay. It’s fine.”

He shouldn’t be here. He knows it. His entire body fucking aches as he weaves through the crowd, two cheap beers in his hands. Jaemin pulls him to a stop, his grip gentle. Jeno assumes, vacantly, that Yukhei probably told him.

Though, then again, it isn’t every day that a fight breaks out a formal. Jeno wonders if the whole campus knows by now.

“Fuck, dude. What the fuck are you doing here?” Jaemin shouts. He’s barely audible over the music, and Jeno wonders if he’s hearing him right. “Shouldn’t you be, like, in bed or something? Fuck, Jeno.”

In response, Jeno downs one of his beers. He’s set to ignore the question for as long as possible, swallowing the beer in amounts that hurt his throat. Jaemin is _right_—Jeno shouldn’t be here. He should be in bed, rotting away, waiting for the pain to subside. Jaemin is right, but it doesn’t mean that Jeno will listen.

“Maybe,” Jeno answers honestly. “Didn’t wanna, though.”

“Does Hyuck know you’re here?”

“No. Thinks I’m home.” Looking away, Jeno squints against the strobe lights. He shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t be lying to his roommate and best friend about this sort of shit. This is the sort of action that starts fights, and fights with Donghyuck are never fun.

The last time they fought, they didn’t speak for weeks. Jeno’s stomach churns as he finishes his beer.

“He’s probably _here_, Jeno. He’s here. You can’t fucking hide from him, you know,” says Jaemin, grabbing him by the good arm and into the bar area. “Sit here.” Jeno stumbles, ass hitting the seat of a chair behind the bar with the smallest push from Jaemin. “Listen. I know we weren’t the closest growing up, and I regret a lot of shit that I did when we were younger, and this is in no fucking way me trying to make up for it, but you need to sit your fucking ass down and stay here.”

There’s nothing to say, not that Jeno can get a word in as Jaemin stomps off. Eric, hand on the door of the fridge, stares at Jeno in amusement before shaking his head.

“What’s up, Superman?” teases Eric, handing him a cold beer. He presses it to Jeno’s shoulder, and he leans into the feeling of the beer against his aching joint before taking it, gratefully.

“Fuck off,” Jeno replies, sipping from his older beer, dejected. “I have every right to be here.”

Leaning against the counter, Eric shakes his head. He should be used to Jeno’s stupidity at this point. “Why’d you come _here_ of all places, though? You _knew_ that they were gonna be here.”

“I don’t know anywhere else to go.”

And that, Jeno thinks, is the first truth he’s said all night. He _doesn’t_ know anywhere else to go. He figures that he could crash whatever house party is being held by Changbin, though last time he was there he ended up drunk and in a pool. Jeno doesn’t put it past himself to do that again, and Donghyuck had threatened to end his life if he did. So, it’s an option, he thinks, though not one that comes without repercussions.

He knew—he _knows_—that being here just means a fight. It doesn’t mean that he wants to leave, though.

Chenle’s head appears over the bar countertop, followed by Yangyang’s. Their gazes are both concerned and amused, and Jeno thinks to himself that it’s an expression he hasn’t seen on Chenle’s face in a while—or, at least, aimed at him. The words that Chenle says aren’t for him to hear, and he’s confused as a water bottle is shoved into his hand.

“I heard,” is all Chenle says.

Jeno’s eyes curl into crescents as he smiles. “Figured.”

“You did the right thing, you know,” Yangyang adds, arms propped up on the bar. Jeno thinks, in another life, he’d be better friends with Jeno; wonders if it could happen in this go-around. “Alcohol won’t make you feel any better, though.”

Laughing, Jeno nods. He knows that. Chenle leaves, though not before knocking Jeno gently on the side of his head. After that, it’s Jeno, and Eric, and whoever walks up to the bar. It feels like forever, and he’s nearly sobered up by the time Jaemin returns, shaking his head wearily.

“Let’s get you out of here, Mr. Lee.”

“Where?” Jeno’s question is disjointed, though it’s clear that Jaemin understands, anyways.

“Come crash at Dejun’s with me,” Jaemin says, pulling Jeno to his feet. He’s careful, the way he’s grabbing and pushing and pulling Jeno. “Don’t stick around here, Jeno. Donghyuck already knows that you’re not at the dorm. Let him cool down before you head back.”

Wrinkling his nose, Jeno stumbles out behind Jaemin, struggling to keep up with his steps. It’s not even that Jaemin is walking _fast_—Jeno’s body just isn’t in the shape to stay on par with Jaemin’s movements. He doesn’t regret fighting that asshole for Yuqi. He just wishes that it didn’t hurt so fucking bad.

“Dejun’s car is parked out back and he’s sober tonight. He’ll drive us.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. How does Donghyuck already know?” Jaemin pushes the back door open, not ready to answer. “Jaemin?”

“He headed back early without Yukhei. When he saw you weren’t there…” Waving his hands around, Jaemin assumes that Jeno can put the rest of the pieces together as he opens the back door of a car. Jeno crumples in the back seat, waiting for Jaemin to slide into the passenger seat.

Dejun shoots him a pitiful look from the driver’s side, nodding his head. “Hey, Jeno.”

“Dejun,” he replies, quieter this time.

Jaemin reaches back to pat Jeno on the knee before turning back around. “It’ll be fine. Sleep it off tonight.”

“Thanks, Jaemin.”

“This is nothing compared to the hundreds of times you covered for me when we were growing up,” Jaemin replies, honest.

Closing his eyes, Jeno snorts. Growing up with Jaemin Na was not easy. They weren’t close; rather, they were strangers that existed on opposite ends of their social spectrum. The only thing that kept them tied together was their mothers’ friendship. Jeno thinks that, without them, Jeno would’ve gone his entire life without knowing Jaemin, regardless of how small their hometown is.

Sometimes he thinks that he would’ve been better off that way. Without Jaemin, Jeno wouldn’t have known how to lie; small white lies but lies all the same.

Jeno doesn’t hate Jaemin; doesn’t blame Jaemin for who he is now. There was always the option of saying no. In fact, he said no multiple times. Jeno did it because Jaemin lived the life and had the attitude that Jeno wanted.

He knows, now, that the attitude and life that Jaemin led came with its own consequences. Jeno likes to think that his understanding of the world and the people around him has grown. And it has, in a way. He still has plenty of time to go before he understands the world around him enough to stop fucking up, though Jeno doesn’t think that there’ll be a day when he _doesn’t_ fuck up.

“—no. Jeno.”

Breaking from his stupor, he meets Jaemin’s concerned gaze. “Yeah?”

“Seatbelt. Dejun won’t drive until you’re buckled in,” Jaemin says, voice soft.

“Oh. Right.” Jeno reaches up, pulling the strap across his body. It’s not until the click echoes in the silent car that Dejun pulls away from the house. While driving by, Jeno thinks he sees Mark waiting out front. Jeno recognizes in that moment that it’s better he left the house.

It’s quiet when he opens the door to his dorm room. The hallway is devoid of life, and he swallows bile when three sets of eyes turn towards him. Donghyuck is the one to stand first, hands repeatedly balling into fists and relaxing by his side. There’s a silent conversation between Rejun and Yukhei, who glance at one another before collecting their things and walking towards the door.

Rejun’s hand on his arm is gentle, and he rubs it, comforting, before stepping outside. In contrast, Yukhei’s touch is gruff and jerky, though he pulls Jeno into a hug all the same.

When the door closes, everything changes. Donghyuck is shouting; screaming mindless things that Jeno can’t even decipher as he sits in the chair once occupied by Renjun. Donghyuck is angry and all Jeno can think to himself is, _I know_.

Though, Jeno thinks that this could be worse. It could be _infinitely_ worse, though the knowledge that this could’ve gone to fucking hell doesn’t make him feel any better. Donghyuck_ seethes_ as he stalks back and forth in their shitty dorm room. He hasn’t even _said_ anything of sense yet and Jeno feels guilt building up deep inside.

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking, Jeno Lee?” asks Donghyuck, nostrils flaring. He tangles his fingers in his hair as he paces around, tugging hard enough that Jeno thinks it must hurt. “I can’t fucking _believe_ you. You’re the biggest fucking dumbass! What were you accomplishing while going out in your current condition, dipshit?”

“And what else would I have done?” bites back Jeno. It’s weak, but it’s a response, nonetheless. “Sit here and rot?”

“Sit here and _heal_, actually.”

Averting his gaze, Jeno stares at the ceiling tiles, counting the individual dots. He’s done this plenty of times and he’s pretty sure he has the count memorized by now. It’s his way of ignoring and overcoming things that bother him. For the first time in a very long time, Donghyuck is the source.

Jeno _knows_. He knows that he could’ve sat in his bed all night, slept soundly, and avoided this whole confrontation. Jeno _knows_, but that doesn’t mean that it was the most rational choice to him last night. Though, on second thought, Jeno realizes that he hasn’t necessarily been making the most rational of choices as of late.

He’s not sure what switch flipped to lead him here and wonders if he’ll ever go back to the way he was. Part of him likes the Jeno he’s become. Part of him hates it. It’s a double-edged sword and Jeno isn’t sure if it’s the right move to go with the flow of time.

“I’m angry because I _care_, Jeno,” Donghyuck says, pulling his own chair up to sit across from his roommate. Their knees touch and Jeno knocks them together weakly. “I feel like part of what happened to you is my fault. I told Yukhei that you would be a good date for Yuqi, and he agreed. And now you’re here, looking like someone took their knee and shoved your face against it.”

“It _isn’t_ your fault, though.” Swinging his feet, Jeno thinks that they’re useless because they couldn’t carry him as far as he wants to go anymore. “It’s my own. I made the decision and I’m paying the consequences. It’s just a few bruises and scratches. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing. I’m just glad that I was there.”

Entering the rabbit hole was on impulse, and Jeno recognizes that it’s too late to turn back. He’s not sure when he started lying to himself, and he’s not sure when he started being truthful. Going out, and getting drunk, Jeno thinks, started as a way to let go. Now, he thinks, it’s become a part of him that he would only let go of if it was the last option.

It’s dangerous and unhealthy and Jeno can feel himself teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

“Do you _know_? How fucking concerned I was when I saw you weren’t here?”

“It’s not your job to worry about me,” Jeno retorts, bringing his gaze down to meet Donghyuck’s. Jeno is stuck in a cycle and he isn’t sure how to get out. “It’s not your job, but you do it anyways.”

“I’m your _best friend_, Jeno. Of course I fucking care!” Donghyuck’s voice is raising by the minute, and Jeno pushes himself back. “I’m _worried_ about you, Jeno. You’re throwing your fucking self-control around like it’s a fucking thing to play games with, and it’s _not_.”

“So? I attend classes and I turn in assignments and I’m passing! In fact, I’m _better than passing_.”

“You’re not Jaemin Na, Jeno,” Donghyuck shoots back, standing up. “You can’t just go around getting drunk every weekend and attending class half-sober. You know that, I know that; we _all_ know that. I just don’t know what the fuck you’re running from! Why the _fuck_ are you so eager to tear yourself apart?”

Jeno doesn’t know. A switch flipped on and it never switched off, and Jeno can’t tell Donghyuck that he’s just trying to figure all the shit in his head out. And maybe being self-destructive isn’t _working_, but Jeno isn’t sure that he wants to stop anymore.

Perhaps, Jeno thinks, he’s willing to tear himself apart just to build himself back up.

“We’ll stay in,” Donghyuck says, voice hoarse as he sits down. “I’ll stay in with you. I just want you to stop fucking yourself over. Literally and figuratively. Stop tearing yourself up over shit that doesn’t exist. Stop making things up in your head, Jeno. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but it’s been really fucking weird watching you fall apart in front of me.”

There isn’t anything to say, so Jeno nods. He supposes it must be weird, watching your friend try to single-handedly destroy themselves, all in the matter of a few weeks.

“You don’t have to stay in. I’ll find things to do. Places to go. Or I’ll just drink less.” Jeno sneers at the ground as he shakes his head. “I’m sure Yukhei’s already fucking told them to stop letting me drink so much.” _Not that it’s any of their business_, Jeno thinks to himself.

Donghyuck leans back, unbelieving. He has things to say—Jeno can see it in the way his hands twitch in his lap. Instead, he nods. “We’ll figure it out,” Donghyuck says. “Together.”

There’s nothing fair about avoiding confrontation. Jeno knows this. It’s why he grimaces as he gently closes his dorm door behind him before turning towards Dejun, back against the wall. The dorm hallway is silent, and he revels in the relative peace that—for once—fills the building. It’s a Sunday morning, though. It’s to be expected.

“Got everything?”

“Yeah.” Jeno adjusts the straps of his backpack, pausing for a moment to meet Dejun’s gaze. “What?”

“Just. Someone was—actually.” Tugging Jeno by the arm, he pauses to push him towards the stairs. “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t even say anything. Let’s pick up some breakfast for Jaemin before we drive back. He’ll never forgive me if I drive to campus and _don’t_ pick him up a coffee and breakfast sandwich from the bagel shop in town.”

“You spoil him, Dejun.” Jeno tuts, though it’s half-hearted. He doesn’t really mean it, though he tosses it out there, anyways. Dejun will catch and run away with it. It’s how their conversations go. Jeno appreciates the predictability.

“Yeah, well,” Dejun says, shrugging, “that’s what you do when you love someone.”

“Do you ever _not_ spoil him?”

Pressing his lips together, Dejun digs his keys out of his pocket. “Far too many times. He has a running list of all the times I haven’t said yes to what he wanted. And most of them have to do with pizza topping choices.”

The laugh that Jeno barks out is ugly, dripping in exhaustion and sorrow, though it’s a laugh, and Dejun smiles in return. “Of course he does, and of course they are. That sounds like Jaemin.”

“You two grew up together, didn’t you?” Dejun asks.

While buckling in, Jeno wonders how much Dejun knows. “Sort of.”

“That sounds like what Jaemin tells me, too.”

“We,” Jeno waves his hands around, “grew up together, sure. Our moms were close friends, and we’re the same age. They felt it was inevitable, but when we were younger, we were too different. Now that we’re older, I guess I can say that we did, even if we didn’t like it.”

“There’s always time, then, to become friends.”

At that, Jeno falls into silence because, yes, of course, there’s always time to build friendships. Though, related, there’s always time to tear them apart.

The car ride is an entity of silence with Dejun, something that Jeno learned quite quickly during the infancy of their friendship. It’s as quiet as the walk from the parking garage to the apartment, the only noise stemming from Jaemin’s surprised squawks as Dejun tosses a bag of food and coffee in front of him before disappearing into the kitchen.

Jeno’s presence has become some sort of unspoken routine for all of them, and it’s familiar, the way he unpacks his things, occupying his very own space on the coffee table. It’s a routine out of desperation, though Jeno thinks that he’s begun to settle into it comfortably.

Jaemin lifts his head to look at Jeno, hunched over his laptop at the coffee table of Dejun’s apartment. “So,” he begins, hesitant, “are you ready to talk about the haircut yet?”

“No,” replies Jeno honestly. Because he’s not. It was spontaneous and a little stupid, and Jeno thinks that he looks like he’s twelve again. Reaching up, he rolls some hair between his fingers. “Not yet, anyways.”

Dejun’s strides are languid as he enters the living room area, frozen pizza in his hands as he places it on the table. He’s been kind, Jeno thinks, to let him hide here from the world that Jeno was once so deeply engrained in. The world that Dejun and Jaemin exist at the center of.

“Well, that kind of sucks, because I am.” He’s pushing Jeno’s laptop closed before he can say anything, pushing the pizza in front of him instead. “Why the fuck did you cut _and_ bleach your hair all of the sudden? Which, by the way, it looks really good. Who did it?”

“Yuqi’s friend.”

“I want their number. I’ve been dying to dye my hair—get it?—pink for months now, but there’s no one nearby who I trust. She did a really good job with your hair, though. To go from your natural hair to platinum blonde in one weekend? Damn.”

Jeno looks up from his laptop, meeting Jaemin’s gaze. He shakes his head before speaking. “No, Donghyuck doesn’t know. I leave before he wakes up and I come back when he’s asleep.”

“I… You know, you’re not exactly displaying peak performance and that might be why,” Dejun says, blinking. “Why are you avoiding him, anyways. Didn’t you two talk it out?”

Talking things out is different from being on good terms again, Jeno thinks. They’re two sides of two _very_ different coins, and Jeno has only flipped one so far. It’s tiring to walk on eggshells every moment he spends with Donghyuck. Jeno only has so much energy to devote to a friendship that he was sure would last for forever and was slowly falling apart in front of his very eyes.

Though, falling apart isn’t an accurate way to describe it, either. It’s not falling apart because Donghyuck is still putting effort forth, and Jeno is too, even if he won’t openly admit it. They’re small gestures—Donghyuck texting him _good luck_ before exams and quizzes and presentations and Jeno leaving snacks and notes and sandwiches for Donghyuck on his desk before he leaves for the day.

Their friendship isn’t falling apart, per say, though there is a deep, growing fracture between them. Jeno still needs to flip that second coin to figure out where they will end up.

“We did,” Jeno replies, eventually. “Thanks for letting me hole up out here with you guys, by the way.”

“It’s something like repentance,” mutters Jaemin, “for all the shit we put each other through growing up. And like, an olive branch or whatever, because I think that we can be friends.”

Jeno knows that his gaze is skeptical as he reaches out for a slice of the frozen pizza. It’s _skeptical_, though he recognizes that Jaemin is right. Beneath their borderline turbulent friendship—if one can even _call it_ that—they had while growing up, Jeno knows that Jaemin was only trying to find happiness in the same way that Jeno has been chasing it for the past several months.

The Jeno of then could find fault in Jaemin’s antics. The Jeno of now cannot.

“Yeah,” Jeno says, nodding. “I think we can, too.”

Eric blinks once, twice, before offering Jeno an uneasy grin. The way he shuffles out of the way is stiff, and awkward, and Jeno doesn’t think much of it, offering his classmate a friendly pat on the shoulder before making his way into the house. It’s a route he knows well by now, feet guiding him without much input from his mind.

The house, in the daytime, isn’t all that terrible, beyond the holes in the walls and the still-strewn Solo cups and abandoned jackets. Jeno thinks that he could live there—amongst all the trash and the trials and the tribulations and the hatred. There’s always an undercurrent of that, anyways, under all the love and support that the brothers have for one another. It’s sense of community and belonging that ties them together, even if it’s only temporary.

Even if it _seems_ temporary, it is, quite possibly, the truest evidence of friendship that Jeno has ever seen.

The not-so-old stairs sound ancient as he ascends them, footsteps careful and deliberate. Rounding the corner, Jeno presses himself against the wall when Yukhei walks by. It doesn’t make him invisible, and he’s not really sure why he thought he could hide himself in the barren hallway, anyways. It’s silent, and the lack of sound between the two of them is heavy as Jeno stares at his sneakers—well-worn. Another gift from Donghyuck.

“Hey,” Yukhei offers, and it sounds quiet and feels broken, and Jeno isn’t really sure what to make of it.

The, “_Hey_,” Jeno returns is stiff and awkward and cracked, but it’s more whole than Jeno thinks it would’ve been last week.

“Haven’t,” and Yukhei pauses, throat dry, “seen you here in a while.”

“Eric,” Jeno says, hands clasping behind his back, “let me in. I’m just… Dejun is picking Jaemin and I up from the house, so, you know. It’ll be a bit. So.”

“I’m not—”

Yukhei cuts himself off, frustrated. His fingers tangle in his hair as he stands there. For a man so tall, he feels small, standing in front of Jeno. And that’s not Jeno’s intention. He doesn’t _mean_ to make Yukhei feel uncomfortable, though it’s not one-sided. Jeno’s hands clench into fists and relax repeatedly the longer they stand there, broiled in silence.

Down the hall, a door opens, Jaemin’s face appearing in the open space. He’s a lifeline for Jeno now—as a person who so heavily believes in a sense of individuality and _self_, Jeno clings to Jaemin like he’s drowning. A hand is raised and Jeno ducks his head down, the smallest of good bye’s slipping out of his mouth before he disappears into Jaemin’s room.

“Should’ve warned you. Sorry.”

“Nah,” Jeno says, breathless, “I expected to run into him eventually. It was a matter of time. And it’s not… It’s not like I haven’t seen them. It’s just…”

They fall into something of a companionable silence as Jeno digs his sneakers into the cheap, square carpet that he’s sure Jaemin picked up off the side of the road or received from a brother upon graduation. Jeno has never been good at words or analogies or metaphors or whatever. He’s never been good at seeing things for what they are, either. And maybe that’s why he’s tangled up in things that were falling apart before he even knew they were.

Like his friendships and his mind and his _life_. They’re crumbling into the smallest pieces of _whatever_ imaginable and there’s no salvaging them. There are no big chunks that he can hope to glue back together—or he doesn’t _think_ there are, anyways. At the moment, Jeno isn’t sure if he’s able to parse apart what is what yet. He’s still unseeing to what remains.

“It’s different,” offers Jaemin, desperate to break the silence. He rubs his arms as if unsettled, and Jeno figures that Jaemin never was comfortable in silence the same way he was.

“Different.”

On the desk, Jaemin’s phone buzzes, though he rejects the call in favor of facing Jeno. It’s been weeks since they’ve come to some sort of truce; become comfortable with invading one another’s space. Jaemin is a source of comfort that Jeno didn’t want, but desperately needs. He knows—he _knows_ what Jaemin is about to say. It’s what he’s been hinting for what feels like ages now.

And it’s not a hint. It’s never been a hint. Jaemin has always been, as Jaemin always is, straightforward and to the point. No bullshit. Jeno likes that about him—he thinks.

“You need to talk to them.”

“I will.”

“Sure,” Jaemin says. “If you’re not going to speak to them… Can you at least tell me _why_ the fuck you pissed him off so badly? How the _fuck_ you two fell apart? You and Donghyuck were, like, attached at the fucking _hip_, and that’s saying something, seeing as he’s literally head-over-fucking-heels with his boyfriends.”

There’s a moment, and Jeno realizes that he himself never took the moment to unravel it—to figure out where exactly he began to fall apart. Where he exactly he began to bring others down with him. There’s no distinct beginning to him, and he turns the thought over in his head once, twice, before Jaemin’s hands are waving in front of his face.

He pushes them away, hands shaking.

“I don’t know,” Jeno says, honest. “I said something, and I did something, and if I could regret it, I would. But I can’t. Because I don’t remember it.”

In the back of his mind, though, he knows. Heartbreak isn’t easy when you’re not prepared for it. Mentally, he scoffs. No one is ever ready for heartbreak. And he had convinced himself—Jeno had truly convinced himself that there was nothing. Part of him still believes that, even. That there’s nothing to be broken over.

“Well, you should try,” Jaemin shoves a shirt into his backpack before picking up his phone, “so you can stop being a fucking sulky bitch about everything.”

“Fuck you,” Jeno says, watching as a smile presses Jaemin’s lips thin.

“You fucking _wish_.”

Dejun nearly knocks his phone off his lap as he raises his arm to accommodate Jaemin’s body that curls up beside him on the bench. Fake gagging, Jeno scrolls through his phone, content to remain on the ground, his back pressed up against the railing of the porch. It’s cold, autumn preparing to seep into winter, and Jeno is ready for break. And it’s misleading, he thinks, the fallacy of Thanksgiving break happening _just_ before winter break—a tease of a vacation before they’re so rudely thrust back into the profound suffering that comes with finals.

And then—and _only_ then—are they graced with nearly thirty-days of freedom. Thirty days that Jeno will cling to with the tips of his fingers until he’s forced back into an academic reality that he’s so ready to leave behind.

There’s still one more year before that, though, and leaving behind the prison that is college means that Jeno has been thrust into the world of the working, and he isn’t sure if he’s ready for that, either. Jeno has single-handedly destroyed friendships he had thought he would cling to for the rest of his life in the matter of a single _month_. His faith in himself for the future wanes by the day.

Jaemin—and Dejun, by extension—are the few who have been his saving grace, softening the blow of his never-ending fall from his highest point to what continues to become his lowest. And Jeno will hit the bottom, eventually, and begin the climb back up. He’s not sure _when_ exactly that will begin, and wonders if perhaps it’s already begun.

“Jeno Lee!”

Turning his head around, Jeno scrambles onto his knees to peer over the railing. Renjun’s voice is unmistakable, as is his small frame rounding the corner, arms swinging _furiously_. Jeno thinks that if this is part of the uphill battle, he might be better off staying in a pit of self-loathing and despair.

“Oh. You’re dead,” Dejun says, pulling Jaemin up. “And you’re on your own.”

“Renjun, this _isn’t_ the way to force Jeno to talk—”

“Oh, he’s going to talk, alright. He’s going to _fucking_ talk, even if it _kills_ him.”

There should be something comical about the sight that Jeno is seeing—the way that Renjun is stalking forward, gaze fierce. The way that Yukhei stumbles beside him, hands up and gaze frantic. The way that Donghyuck strolls behind them, unperturbed by the mess that proceeds him. Jeno recognizes it as a front from the way that his steps speed up as the house comes into view, Jeno’s body crouched on the porch.

“I’m sorry,” Jaemin adds, standing in the doorway to the house. “I called them. Well, I’ve been… I’ve been talking to them. Donghyuck misses you, you know. And you miss him. And it looks like you were both gonna go home with bad blood and, as your friend, I can’t let you do something that stupid.”

“I’m not angry,” says Jeno, and it’s not a whole truth, but it’s not a whole lie, either. It’s bits and pieces of both, and he drags himself to his feet as Renjun approaches. “You’re right.”

“We’ll be inside. Let me know when it’s all… over, I guess.”

Renjun’s feet stomp up the steps behind him as Jeno says, “I think you’ll hear it.”

“You better stop running away!” He’s poking Jeno in the chest with a finger, eyes alight with something. Jeno never _was_ good at reading people—reading the emotions in other people’s expressions. There are nuances to expressions, and the most he can parse out is whether the emotion is positive or negative. And that’s not all that informative, really.

“Okay,” he acquiesces. This is something that was coming, whether Jeno was willing to accept it or not.

“I fucking mean it—wait. What?” Renjun straightens up as Jeno turns around, leaning his back against the front door. His expression is one of disbelief, as if he didn’t expect this, and Jeno thinks that Renjun probably didn’t.

“I said,” Jeno clasps his hands behind his back, “okay. I’m not gonna run anymore. Jaemin’s right. It’d be fucked for me to just leave without figuring shit out, and I’m sure all of us want this off the mind, what with finals coming up. Also, I’ve been a dick.”

Pressing his lips together, Renjun looks up at Yukhei. “Well, this isn’t fun.”

Yukhei rolls his eyes as he backs up to lean against the porch railing. His arms are crossed as he gazes at Jeno. “It’s not supposed to be fun, you know. This is a shoddily executed intervention that doesn’t even involve us.”

“It does,” Renjun presses his hands to his chest, “involve us, because it involves Donghyuck. And Jeno is our friend, too.”

“Sorry for running away from _you_ the other day, by the way,” Jeno says, lifting his chin in Yukhei’s direction. It’s cold outside, though it’s warm for the steadily waning days of autumn. Jeno wishes that there was snow on the ground, or it started to torrential downpour—that there was an excuse to move inside. A mild autumn, Jeno thinks. A mild _everything_. “I was just thrown off. That’s all.”

Yukhei’s hands are up, palms facing forward as he shakes his head. “It was a surprise attack. I don’t blame you. I didn’t think you were gonna be over so soon. I thought I had a little longer.”

“It’s over with now. It’s fine.”

“Thanks for walking me over, but I want to talk to Jeno alone,” Donghyuck interjects. His hand is held out, like a peace offering, and Jeno can’t help but stare at it in silence for a moment. He counts to five before taking Donghyuck’s hand in his. “I miss you.”

“I’m standing right in front of you,” jokes Jeno, weak. The laugh he earns from Donghyuck is more a huff than anything else, though his eyeroll is a good sign. “I miss you, too.”

It’s not a solution—there is no immediate fix. Jeno knows this, linking his arm with Donghyuck and walking away, side-by-side. There’s no quick fix, but one piece of Jeno’s shattered heart settles back into place, waiting for its other parts to join it. Those pieces, though, are for another day.

It feels foreign, being in his dorm room with Donghyuck when he’s awake. They’re perched on his bed, legs crossed under his blanket. The stitches are broken and fraying, and Jeno picks at them. Donghyuck mirrors his actions, and something about the silence is comforting in the moment. There are fractures that Jeno is, in this moment, pulling closed, tying them shut with the broken threads.

Silence, once suffocating, feels comforting. His shoulder is pressed against Donghyuck’s and it’s tentative—experimental as he leans to the side, cheek resting on Donghyuck’s shoulder. There’s no rejection, though. Donghyuck is, as always, steady beside him. He is foundation and a house and a bed for Jeno to rest on.

Donghyuck hums to a song that Jeno doesn’t recognize. It’s soothing and placating and it gently smooths out the wrinkles left behind by his shitty stitch job. He wonders if it’s a song that’s been playing on the radio, or if it’s something that he stumbled upon when looking for a video to watch on YouTube. It’s only been two weeks since he’s spoken to Donghyuck, but it feels like it’s been years.

There’s a divide between them that closes the longer they sit there. And there’s still a distance that Jeno must trust himself to leap across.

It’s a large space, and it’s frightening. This is something that Jeno has never had to do. Not in friendships of the past, and not in friendships of the present, either. He was so sure that they would never break—that he and Donghyuck would withstand whatever hell he subjected them to as his mental state fractured throughout university. Jeno isn’t sure why he thought that way. Why he thought that everything would stay together without investment.

Jeno knows that it’s his job to make the jump, though. So he pauses from rolling the ripped threads between his fingers and reaches out to link his hand with Donghyuck’s, lacing their fingers together and taking a deep breath.

Donghyuck’s inhale is sharp and his gaze is afraid as he turns to Jeno. There’s an unsaid question—warranted confusion—in his gaze as he waits for Jeno to say something. _Anything_. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say here, though, and his tongue feels so heavy as he sits there, trying to form sentences without fucking up, his mouth turning as dry as a fucking desert as time ticks on.

“I fucked up,” is the best that Jeno can manage. And it’s not much or enough or anything, really, but it pulls a wry smile across Donghyuck’s face as he nods, prompting Jeno to continue. “I fucked up really bad. And I don’t even know where to start.”

“We can start at how it wasn’t one-sided,” Donghyuck offers. “I’m at fault, too. I should’ve stopped you, you know.”

“No,” says Jeno, voice firm. “No, you shouldn’t have. You’re my friend, not my parent. The most you could’ve done was tell me that I was being stupid and that I should stop whatever the fuck I was doing. But it’s not your job as my friend to make sure I don’t ruin myself.”

“I say this respectfully, Jeno, but shut the fuck up.” Donghyuck’s tone is relatively soft, though any sort of argument dies on Jeno’s tongue as Donghyuck squeezes his hand. “If I want to be more involved as your friend… If I know I could’ve stepped in… I _know_ that I could’ve, Jeno. I _knew_ I needed to, and yet I still let you fuck yourself up until you were falling apart. It was scary, you know. After… After, you know, that day in the frat,” Donghyuck swallows loudly, “you just… you really threw yourself into the whole party scene. It was scary. You weren’t Jeno anymore. You aren’t invincible.”

“I know that.”

Smile teasing, Donghyuck shakes his head. “_Now_ you know that.”

“Honestly,” Jeno’s free hand traces patterns on his thighs through the blanket, “I think I knew back then, too. I don’t think it was a protective mechanism or anything. I think it was self-destructive.”

Donghyuck falls into silence at that. He’s always been better at silence, and Jeno envies himself for being so comfortable to stew in silence with nothing to occupy his hands or mind. Comparatively, Jeno’s free hand explores freely, creating paths and maps and adventures for his mind to wander.

“Are you ready to talk about this?” asks Donghyuck.

“I think I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” Jeno admits. “But to be honest, I’m still trying to figure it all out. I’m not particularly pressed to, but I think it wouldn’t be a bad thing to figure out… I guess.”

Shifting his shoulder, Donghyuck pulls away to look at Jeno properly, eyes narrowing in thought. “Let me help you this time, Jeno. I’m here for you. You’re my best friend. Stop pushing me away.”

“It’s not on purpose.”

“You were leaving before I woke up or coming back after I was asleep, Jeno.”

Jeno presses his lips together as he admits, “Okay, that part was on purpose. But… the other stuff.”

“If you’re not ready to talk about it, Jeno, let’s not talk about,” Donghyuck says softly, pressing close to Jeno again. His presence is stabilizing and Jeno nods. “Tell me about what you were up to when I wasn’t around. I see you’ve bleached your hair white. And you’ve reconnected with Jaemin. Which I’m really glad to hear about, you know. It was about time.”

They fall silent, and Donghyuck clears his throat.

“I’m glad that he could be there for you when I couldn’t. Wasn’t.”

Quiet, Jeno looks down at their hands. Jaemin, he thinks, was not a replacement, though he wasn’t filling a space, either. It’s more that Jaemin was finally making the space that he was meant to create all those years ago. His role is distinct from Donghyuck’s, though no less important. Jaemin was there because Jeno wasn’t allowing Donghyuck to be.

“Well, now both you can be there.” Pausing, Jeno shakes his head. “Here. In the present. Because I want to move forward from this and learn.”

“Okay,” Donghyuck says with a smile. He squeezes Jeno’s hand again before smiling. “So… what goes on in Jeno world?”

Taking a deep breath, Jeno speaks. He goes on and on without end, about how his classes were going, and how he hated going to cafés and the library without Donghyuck, and how he didn’t realize that his heart was broken until he sat in Dejun’s apartment and realized that somewhere along the lines he had broken his own silent rules and fallen for Mark Lee.

Through it all, Donghyuck holds his hand. There are still fragments that need to be fixed. Or broken off and replaced. Jeno is still figuring out. Regardless, things are beginning to settle, and he feels at home again.

“Well… I’m not sure how to fix a broken heart,” murmurs Donghyuck, “but I’m excited to get cheap Americanos with you from the campus café again.”

“Yeah,” Jeno nods, “Me, too.”

The cracks that exist between him and Yukhei, and him and Renjun, mend themselves when Jeno repairs what he had broken in Donghyuck. Time passes quickly when things are broken, and it passes faster when things are fixed. Jeno is sure that time doesn’t make sense regardless of the circumstances, though, and accepts that it feels like months have passed since he saw them last.

Despite the time that passed and the things that happened, it’s easy for Jeno to settle back into the existence he has with them around him.

“How have you been, Jeno?” Renjun asks, kicking a pile snow as they walk. “It’s been a while.”

“… Not really. We saw each other a few days ago, and you were threatening to choke me out,” replies Jeno, smiling as Renjun raises a harmless fist in the air. “But I get what you mean. And you’re right. It has been a while, I guess. Finals are going okay for everyone?”

Renjun’s hum is noncommittal, and Yukhei offers a groan in response. They’re sentiments that Jeno can relate to, nodding in agreement. Donghyuck, on the other hand, hums in content as they walk on the sidewalk. It’s a bit blinding, the sun reflecting off the snow, now longer freshly fallen. A think layer of ice has settled on the surface, and Yukhei occasionally steps onto lawns, listening to a satisfying crunch.

“Finals fucking _suck_, but I’m just glad we’re all hanging out again,” says Donghyuck. “It was weird without you, Jeno.”

“I usually don’t believe in other people interfering with business that isn’t their own,” Yukhei says, unlocking the front door of the fraternity house, “though I think in this case it’s better that Jaemin did.”

Jeno doesn’t have an argument for or against that analysis, so he nods silently in agreement, staring in wonder at the empty house. It will always feel foreign in the daytime, he thinks, regardless how many times he invades the space while the sun is in the sky. The atmosphere that he knows best—the house in the midst of an open party—is simply too different.

“If Jaemin hadn’t said anything to Yukhei, I think we would’ve gone into winter break without talking,” Donghyuck plucks at a stray string on the couch as he flings his body onto it, “and it was weird enough spending Thanksgiving without the endless text messages from Jeno complaining about how he’s being forced to interact with his family when we _all_ know that he does it because he’s a filial son.”

“Just because I do it out of the goodness in my heart doesn’t mean I enjoy it,” argues Jeno, plopping down beside Donghyuck. “It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been here.”

“With us, yeah,” Renjun says with a nod. “Are you coming to the open party tonight? I’m even going. It’s a reading day tomorrow, after all.”

Sinking into the couch, Jeno debates the pros and cons of going. It feels too early to attend a party after the falling out, and Jeno isn’t sure if he’s ready to face the mess that his mind becomes at parties. He folds his hands in his lap as he thinks, drawing Donghyuck’s attention.

“Jeno and I are gonna stay in tonight,” Donghyuck interjects, smile wide. “There’s a new show on Netflix I’ve been wanting to binge. And, while I know you two love to indulge me, I know that this is one Jeno will like.”

Renjun, reading the atmosphere, nods. “Let us know what you think of it, Jeno.”

“Actually,” Yukhei says, pushing himself into a seated position, “this guy was looking for you a few weeks ago at an open party. A few of them, to be more accurate.”

Turning towards Yukhei, Jeno tilts his head to the side. Someone looking for him isn’t outside the realm of possibilities, though Jeno can’t think of who it might be. So, he asks. “A guy?”

“What did he look like?” Donghyuck asks, leaning forward. The shitty fraternity couch groans under his movement, though he ignores it in favor of shooting Yukhei with a severe look. “Did he have dark hair? Big eyes? Pointy cheekbones? Glasses maybe? I don’t know… Jeno, did he wear his glasses often?”

Nodding no, Jeno hums. “I’m not really sure. Sometimes? He took them off whenever we’d… I don’t know. He wouldn’t really have them on for most of the time if he did.”

Curling his fingers into O’s, Yukhei holds them in front of his eyes as he asks, “Like this?”

“Yes!” shouts Donghyuck. “Exactly like that!”

“Then, yeah. He said his name was Mark Lee,” Yukhei says, startling as Donghyuck reaches over to grab Jeno by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth. “Is everything okay?”

“Fuck, Jeno! _Fuck_, he was looking for you!”

There’s silence as Dejun stands on the stairs with a grin, Jaemin’s arms draped over his shoulders. They’re quiet, and they all stare at one another before Dejun speaks. “Did I hear someone say the name Mark Lee? What about him? He’s a friend of a friend that crashes here sometimes… Though never actually _here_, I guess. He was off somewhere else lately.”

“Yeah. Fucking Jeno in our dorm room,” barks Donghyuck. “What do _you_ know about Mark Lee?”

Jaemin’s smile widens as he bounds down the stairs before squeezing himself between Jeno and the arm of the chair. His arm is thrown around Jeno, chin digging into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Mark Lee is friends with Kunhang, who’s childhood friends with Dejun. They go to the university like an hour or two away?”

“Just friends?” asks Jeno, tilting his head to the side.

“Just friends,” Dejun confirms.

“Oh.” Jeno swallows. “I see.”

“Well… fuck,” whispers Donghyuck into the silence.

It’s quiet in the apartment. Jeno isn’t sure what show they’re watching, the screen a blur and the audio passing in one ear and out the other without any comprehension. He’s exhausted, finals finally behind him. They all are, really. Donghyuck curls around him, arms steady around his middle as he laughs along with those around him.

Renjun and Yukhei are on their way, probably—Jeno isn’t completely sure, though he doesn’t mind the one-on-one time with Donghyuck, even if he isn’t fully present for the moment. Donghyuck was a constant, and he continues to be one as time continues on. Jeno feels somewhat desperate to remain attached to his sources of normalcy, though he feels like all it does is give him more places to fall.

Eventually, somewhere along the way, the television captures his attention, though Jeno isn’t sure that he recognizes the show. Perhaps, in his subconscious he does. A lack of full understanding quells the guilt that settles in his stomach as his attention diverts itself again.

As many things that settle back in place, some pieces still remain unturned. Jeno, for what it’s worth, is terrified to investigate them. They seem fragile—as if the most delicate of touches will reduce them to dust. It’s expensive to collect materials and form them into the shapes he needs to rebuild himself from rubble. It’s easier to salvage what he can.

The largest gap that still remains is a byproduct of a broken heart that Jeno did not recognize he was nursing. Without him recognizing, it fractured until it broke under the stress. To some degree, he has begun to put it back together. The pieces he holds in his hand are small, and they don’t resemble a heart yet. They can hold nothing, and Jeno is lucky that his love for those he holds close is too large to call his heart home.

End credits roll, and a silence envelops them. It’s a comfortable for the most part, until all eyes are on him. And he expected as much, as finals wrapped themselves up in pretty boxes and flew to the other side of their consciousnesses. There are many questions, and perhaps answers, and Jeno has been spending the time he has available to sort them out.

It’s a meager attempt—there is too much in his mind to smooth out; crumpled pieces of paper that have lost their shape and texture and no longer resemble what they once were. Jeno thinks that, perhaps, it will be easier to simply toss them out and forget of their existence. Too much guilt fills his mind when he considers that, though.

Too much guilt, because they are thoughts and concerns and fears that involve those that surround him, and things of that magnitude cannot be kept to himself. Or so Jeno has learned.

Pressing his lips together, Dejun turns the volume of the television down in favor of turning his body towards Jeno. He returns the look with a nod, though there isn’t much conversation that follows. If anything, they sit there in silence, Jaemin sitting up as he notices the weird vibe.

“Jeno,” says Dejun, slowly.

There’s a fake smile on his face as he nods. Around him, Donghyuck’s arms squeeze tighter. “That’s my name,” Jeno says with a laugh, “don’t wear it out!”

“Why were you curious about Mark Lee?”

Jeno takes a moment to clear his throat, hand reaching up to clasp the back of his neck. There’s no easy way to admit that he was reacting hastily and responding to speculation like an emotional idiot. Though part of him admits that he owes them an explanation, after spending weeks hiding out in their apartment, running from literally nothing. They never asked questions, and Jeno was never pushed until he broke. Dejun and Jaemin protected him while Jeno rebuilt himself.

Jaemin will tell him, _You don’t owe us anything_, but Jeno will want to tell them anyways.

“I hooked up with him.”

“Okay,” Dejun replies, nodding. “But there’s more to it.”

It’s not a question, and Jeno nods. “I mean, it’s more along the lines of, I didn’t realize that I had fallen for him, and then I saw him with Kunhang, who I didn’t know was his friend on campus, so I freaked out and started spiraling.”

“There were other things,” Donghyuck murmurs, reaching up to massage the back of Jeno’s neck. “There were other things going on. That was just the tipping point.”

“It was the usual shit, you know,” mutters Jeno, narrowing his eyes, “Like, having a year left and not having any fucking clue about what I want to do. My parents expecting things of my future and none of them feeling right. I thought I had everything under control, but I didn’t.”

Jaemin nods in understanding, and Jeno thinks that he probably understands the best. These are things—worries—that Jeno finds most comfortable when held close to his chest. A lot of the pressures and expectations had no sense of obligation. Rather, Jeno’s desperate urge to be a filial son had led him and left him in the bottom of a well for which there was no exit.

His parents are, for the most part, understanding of his decisions, and Jeno recognizes that he’s lucky in that way. There’s no overwhelming sense of a power being held over his head when he thinks of his future from an outside presence. Everything, Jeno thinks, is in his head.

“And Mark was a distraction at first. And then he became a constant,” Jeno smooths his hands on his knees, “And then he wasn’t.”

“Mark is single,” says Dejun, firmly, “and he says he’s been nurturing his own broken heart as of late. I wonder why.”

Eyes trailing back to the television, Jeno hums. “I wonder why.”

“He’s graduating next semester.”

There’s a moment where Jeno is sure he’s stopped breathing. A weight sits on his chest, heavier than ever.

“Oh,” whispers Jeno. “Fuck.”

“You should think about it,” Dejun says, voice even.

Lips pressed together, Jeno hums. “I will.”

There is a _month_. Jeno has a _month_ to sort out the fucking clusterfuck in his head. And he’s determined to. To a degree, Jeno is sure that he can. He can, after shoving everything to the corner of his mind and reorienting himself. Being home helps with that, and there’s something satisfying in the way his mother looks upon him fondly when Jaemin picks him up to go to the mall.

It took years, he thinks, but they get along now. He’s sure that Jaemin’s mother must feel the same.

“Dejun texted me,” Jaemin says, slowing to a stop.

Jeno hums in response, content to scroll through his phone, sifting through all the messages from Donghyuck that he slept through last night. It’s still early—sort of. It’s nearly noon, and the farther Jeno reads, the more recent the messages become until they abruptly stop around nine in the morning. From there Renjun sent a singular, _jesus_, before the chat went back to sleep.

He relates to Renjun’s message and the blatant silence from Yukhei as he depends on Renjun to take control of the shitshow that is the chat overnight. And Jeno understands that it’s because Donghyuck has fucked up his sleep schedule beyond all belief—they _all_ have, really, they just cope differently when they’re given time to rest—and that he can’t fall asleep until the sun is finally rising and his mother starts to cook breakfast. Jeno understands, but it doesn’t mean he has to be _awake_ for the messages.

“Jeno.”

“Yeah?”

Jaemin’s lips are pressed together in a thin line, and Jeno wants to tell him that he’ll get wrinkles from frowning like that. His expression, however, tells Jeno to shut the fuck up and listen to him for five _fucking_ seconds. “I _said_, Dejun texted me.”

“Right,” Jeno replies, nodding slowly, “I’d expect your boyfriend to text you over the break.”

“He texted me about Mark.” Whispering a small, _ah_, Jeno nods, prompting Jaemin to continue. “Told me that Mark was pretty heartbroken when you stopped showing up. He, you know, came looking for you. Kept asking around for you. It was kind of pitiful, really. I felt bad for him. Like, you know, I knew where you were, but it wasn’t my place to tell him. Plus, you had other shit going on.”

And Jeno nods at _that_. It’s an understatement to say that he had other shit going on, and the truth is that he _still_ does. There are still cracks where there was once solid foundation, and Jeno still can’t figure out how to fix them. Donghyuck still approaches him warily; stepping softly in the sort of way they hadn’t since they first moved in. And it hurts, if Jeno is being honest. He knows that it’s his fault, but it hurts.

He didn’t have to run away. Jeno didn’t _have_ to make things worse, but he did, because that’s what he’s good at. He’s trying to get better at other things—like mending and rebuilding—but it’s a difficult process, and Jeno can’t see if he’s made any sort of progress on anything other than building what had been fabricated between him and Jaemin.

It’s a start, but a bit of a faulty one at that. Jeno didn’t have to put together the foundation. He didn’t have to solder the beams together and mix the concrete. His mother did that, nearly twenty years ago, with a friendship that was born out of an unexpected move and an oddly in-sync pregnancy with a kind-hearted woman down the street.

That foundation is still fragile, anyways. Jeno has come to appreciate and accept Jaemin into his heart, though it’s hard to build up from something that Jeno hadn’t put much work into in the first place. Jaemin doesn’t seem to care, though. He seems to accept the passage of people in and out of his life; he seems content to let people come and go. Jeno thinks that it’s a good thing—that it’s something he should learn to do.

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on the people around me.”

“I’m not arguing with that,” Jaemin snorts derisively, rolling his eyes before pulling away from the stop sign they had loitered at for far too long, “I’m just saying that, you know, it’s okay to put some things over others. That’s, like, only natural. To expect anything else would be unfair, seeing as most of us do the same. There’s a sort of hierarchy to the things going on in our head.”

Groaning, Jeno nods. “Why can’t you still be the same headass from high school? Things were easier back then.”

“Because people grow up and change, Jeno. You did, too, you know.”

Jeno’s response is a mix of a grimace and a nod as he reaches out to fiddle with the radio. Jaemin isn’t wrong. The things that he had once pushed Jaemin out of his life for, Jeno mimicked. The endless partying, the attending class hungover, the easy-going nature with no expectation for reality. And even if Jaemin still does those things, there’s a part of him that’s begun to learn and change from his mistakes to make the future seem more stable.

His is still wobbly. It’s as if Jeno’s future teeters on the edge of a cliff, and a few wrong moves will send it careening into the ocean. He prefers to keep those thoughts to himself, though—hold them close and pretend that they don’t exist until everything is fucking falling apart and he has no one to blame but himself. Donghyuck tells him that it’s a self-destructive coping mechanism and all Jeno can do is nod as he puts his best self forward.

It’s a process, fixing himself. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be over, either.

“Dejun said,” Jaemin adds, smoothing over the silence, “that he told Mark to stop by again, at the beginning of the semester. Before, you know. Things get crazy in the spring. And they’ll be crazier since he’s graduating. So there are _all_ sorts of things that are happening for him, don’t you think?”

“I realized that I don’t even really know him,” interjects Jeno, nursing a gentle frown on his face. “Why do I miss him so much if I don’t even know him?”

“Well,” there’s a shout as Jaemin flips the bird to a car who cut him off, “this is your chance to figure that out, huh?”

Staring out the side-view mirror, Jeno examines the car behind them. “Yeah. This is it.”

This is it, because Jeno has figured it out, and it’s ironic how it’s truly in the nick of time, what with the impending return to campus to face the shit that he left behind. It’s not as broken as it once was, and Jeno has something to hold onto and put back together when he sits at his desk, unsure of what to do.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Jeno sends Dejun a message.

_Hey_, he writes, _Can you convince Mark to stop by the frat? Just once._

It’s not long before he receives a response.

Across the basement, Jeno feels a sense of déjà vu as he sets his eyes on Mark Lee. Jaemin is pushing him forward with a drunken shove, Donghyuck is howling with laughter as Yukhei slaps his key into Jeno’s hand, and Mark looks out of his fucking mind. He’s in fucking _pajamas_ in the middle of a fraternity basement, hair stuck every which way. There’s this disoriented quality to his gaze that’s far from the Mark that Jeno knows, though still endearing all the same.

Kunhang Wong, with a grin, salutes Jeno before disappearing from the side of a bewildered Mark.

Jeno can barely hear Mark’s distraught, “How the fuck did I get here?” over the music, though it’s pitiful.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Jeno murmurs, tugging him towards the door. Mark can’t argue, stumbling up the stairs before they’re passing through the living room and wandering through the darkness. There’s a light switch, somewhere, though Jeno still isn’t sure where everything is in the house, even after years of frequenting it. He thinks that he discovers something new every time.

“Jeno?”

“In the flesh,” he’s muttering as he shoves the key into the lock, jiggling it until the door opens, “And apparently here to save the day.”

“You’re not… drunk, are you?” Mark whispers, eyes wide.

“I haven’t had anything to drink at all in a few months, if that’s what you’re asking,” is Jeno’s blunt response. And he’s holding up better than he expected, seeing Mark again. It might have something to do with the wide eyes and unfamiliar outfit, though Jeno doesn’t really care. He’s holding up, not cracking. Not yet. That’s all that matters. “And that includes tonight.”

They fall into a silence that isn’t exactly comfortable, though Yukhei’s bed is enough of a familiarity that Jeno feels free enough to fling his body into it. Mark is less open to move around, shuffling his feet, still in fucking slippers, until he’s standing in front of Jeno, body language uncertain. He moves his body slowly until he’s on his side, across from Jeno, mouth falling open and closing several times before he closes his eyes.

There’s a lot of shit to unpack. Jeno gets that. Fucking around without feelings is something that can be done, though it doesn’t seem that either of them have been successful at it this time around. Jeno tells himself that his track record proves that he’s never been good at it, from Chenle to Yeeun to that brief stint he fucked around with Haknyeon. He always thinks he’s separated the emotion from it until he hasn’t, and he’s spiraling when they’re finally torn apart.

It’s overdramatic, Jeno knows, though he doesn’t really care. He accepts that’s he’s destined to be an absolute shitshow until the day he dies, and all he can hope is that he finds someone who accepts that. Mark might not be that person. Jeno isn’t keeping him here—he wants to give Mark the opportunity to walk away if he wants.

Mark breaks the silence with a simple, “What happened?”

There’s nothing particularly profound about it, and Jeno likes that. But there’s also a lot to unpack, so he tries to keep it easy with a, “I caught feelings, thought you were dating someone else, ran away, fucked up a lot, made a lot of people sad, and now I’m here, trying to make a lot of things better. But it’s hard.”

Humming, Mark nods, eyes still closed as he contemplates _something_. Jeno isn’t sure what goes through Mark Lee’s head, though he’s come to the realization that he doesn’t have to. That isn’t what happens in any sort of relationship. Or, it can, though it shouldn’t be an expectation. Jeno should stop thinking so hard—stop trying to figure everything out when it doesn’t need to be figured out.

The silence is nice. Jeno stews in it, taking the opportunity to really _look_ at Mark, because he’s all sharp angles that are soft, and it’s the sort of contradiction that Jeno can’t wrap his head around. His eyes, when they flutter open, sparkle in the darkness behind his glasses, and Jeno knows that _definitely_ doesn’t make any sense—the way that he can see the universe in Mark’s eyes feels unnatural, but so very Mark Lee in a way that just _is_.

Jeno, when it comes to it, could wax poetic about Mark for hours. Days, really, if given the opportunity. There’s something about him that pulls Jeno in, be it his wide eyes or his propensity to whisper lines from movies in Jeno’s ears to keep him giddy.

“I want to know you, Jeno,” Mark says quietly, “if you’ll let me. I want to know you past the glitter eyeshadow and the kisses that leave me absolutely breathless. I want a lot of things, but I only want them if you’ll let me.”

It’s a delicate ultimatum and Jeno recognizes it as such. Mark words it so pleasantly that Jeno feels like he could say no and still have Mark in his life. He knows that this isn’t the truth. Mark words it this way so Jeno won’t feel terrified and suffocated. It’s to give Jeno the space to think, even though that’s all Jeno does, really. He’s always thinking and never coming to all that many conclusions.

When it comes to Mark, though, Jeno has come to a conclusion.

“I want to know you, too.”

And Jeno recognizes that it’s going to be a process. They’ll have to unlearn the habits that they’ve spent months learning and building together to make way for something new. He can’t find a good way to go about this, though Mark seems to see something in the way he smiles, reaching forward to tangle his fingers with Jeno, to ask innocent questions—ask how his finals were, what he did over winter break. And Jeno answers every single one, listening as Mark recounts his own escapades with a sleep-laced voice.

Somewhere along the way, the sun begins to rise, and Jeno realizes that getting to know Mark Lee may not be as impossible as he once thought. There’s an easiness to their conversation, painted over with a thin layer of awkwardness because this is unfamiliar territory. They stumble and fall, and there are stretches of silence between them that there isn’t a resolution to, Mark awkwardly supplying the conversation with a new question.

Jeno wants to know Mark in a different sort of way, and he thinks that he’s going to get to.

Jeno doesn’t really _know_ Mark. He realizes this as he sees Mark outside the basement of a fraternity house and he’s so far from the man he met in the dark. This man is closer to the bewildered one he saw last, though it’s still a far-cry from what Jeno knows. That doesn’t matter, though, when this is what Jeno wants—to break beyond the expectations and know Mark beyond cheap beer and good fucks.

And, okay, it’s not that he didn’t know this _before_. In fact, Jeno realized a long time ago that he didn’t know Mark, though he’s come to terms with it. He’s _embraced_ the fact that this is a new beginning of sorts. It’s _nice_, getting to know Mark in a whole different way. Jeno sort of basks in it.

He takes in the flustered smile that Mark tries to hide when they eat lunch together in the crowded cafeteria, Donghyuck’s laser-focus gaze settled on them from across the room; Jeno absorbs the way that Mark traces mindless patterns onto the surface of tables as he studies for an upcoming exam before moving onto filling out yet another job application. They’re little things, though they’re _new_, and Jeno finds himself appreciating them more than he intended.

It’s hard _not_ to fall for Mark Lee. This isn’t a startling fact, really, but it’s a discovery all the same. Jeno embraces this readily, finding comfort in the ways that Mark seems to invade his mind. There are small moments where Jeno starts to realize that he’s learned plenty of things about Mark.

Jeno has learned that Mark doesn’t particularly like coffee, though he doesn’t like tea, and he _surely_ doesn’t like energy drinks. He’s learned that Mark prefers quiet Saturday mornings and afternoons sprawled on his bed, alarm faint from where his phone is shoved between the frame and the mattress as he does his best to pretend that there are no responsibilities waiting for him on the other side of his door. It’s a sentiment that Jeno strongly relates to, though he tugs Mark from his bed, anyways.

There is moving fast, and there is moving slow, and Jeno isn’t really sure what they’re doing. Donghyuck tells him that there’s no simple solution—that Jeno shouldn’t worry about the speed of it all and instead focus on the comfort he feels by Mark’s side instead. For the most part, at least, Jeno has been successful at that. He’s scared to think about the future and is more comfortable with living moment to moment.

Beside him, Mark stands tall in the sort of way that Jeno hopes he, too, can be in the future, and that’s been the real eye-opening part of having Mark in his life in this sort of way. Mark is there, and himself, and pushing Jeno to be a version of himself that is better than the last, even when Jeno isn’t sure what direction he’s facing. He’s something of a reminder that there isn’t a directionality when it comes to self-improvement.

Jeno can grow up or out or into the ground, and all of it is some form of change that is a step away from where he was; all of it is a chance to learn more about himself in ways that he never thought to look at himself in the past. Mark is there when Jeno replants himself into the ground and begins to grow anew.

Mark is there when Jeno re-dyes his hair back to black, running his fingers through fried strands and wondering what in the world possessed him to bleach it so bright. (He knows what it was, and it’s a thing of the past, and with it, Jeno decides that his blond hair should also make its final exit.) There’re the barest strands of sympathy from Renjun as he combs the dye through Jeno’s hair, humming along to the next song on Yukhei’s playlist. Jeno doesn’t recognize it, but it’s catchy and his body sways to the beat, anyways.

“I can’t tell if I’m impressed you kept up with your roots, or if I think you’re an idiot,” Donghyuck says, reaching forward to rub clumps of hair, swallowed by dye, between his fingers. He retracts his arm before pulling a face and looking at himself in the mirror.

Jaemin, in the corner of the already-cramped bathroom, stares back at Jeno, grin wide as he nods. “Adventures in dying our hair, I guess.”

“I’m glad that we all decided that my apartment was the perfect meeting place,” interjects Dejun, tone bland as he nudges Jaemin to the side to perch on the edge of the tub. “Not that I mind. Really.”

“Coulda fooled me,” is Yukhei’s equally disinterested reply as he scrolls through his phone. His hair is cropped short; a by-product of over-dying and the willingness to try something new. Jeno isn’t so willing in this moment; he clings to his hairstyle with desperate fingers as Renjun snaps his gloves off his hand before nudging Jeno off the chair and replacing him with Donghyuck whose bright blond hair is ready to be disposed of.

Against the wall, Mark reaches out for Jeno’s hand, tracing meaningless patterns up and down his forearm as he listens intently to the story that Donghyuck tells, eyes closed as Renjun slathers his hair in bright red dye. Everything with Donghyuck is bright, and Jeno has come to find that he’s a sort of beacon for when his mind wanders too far away from the present. He has been stability for Jeno. A constant.

A kiss against his cheek pulls him from his thoughts to stare at Mark, who beams at him.

“What?” he manages to croak out, peering nervously at Mark, who shrugs.

“I just felt like doing that,” is Mark’s honest reply as he pulls Jeno closer, arms wrapped around his waist. He’s an anchor—a lifeline to the spaces that wrap around Jeno like a blanket, forming a new sort of world that he thinks he could get used to.

After thorough thought, Jeno smiles. “I hope you feel like doing it more often.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Getting to know Mark is like getting to know the other side of the same coin. There’s the side of Mark that’s so confident—guides Jeno to bed and fucks him with smooth words and passion. And there’s also the side of Mark who fumbles, stumbling through the world with wide eyes and an innocence that Jeno finds endearing. They’re the _same_ Mark, really; two different sides for two different situations.

Jeno has come to adore them both.

He’s fallen for the Mark Lee that sings along to Khalid in the car, windows rolled down in the drive back to Jeno’s campus, winter melting away into spring. The Mark Lee that hides behind his hand when they watch a horror movie and screams when his roommate opens the door. There is a plethora of details that Jeno has learned that begin to complete the painting of Mark that he works on in his head.

Mark Lee, who bunches the fabric of his oversized sweaters in his hands when he’s concentrated, pouring over a book. The man who sends Jeno a confident selfie before a video call interview for the job he’s been dreaming of since he entered university. He’s a man full of contradictions; sheepish smiles as he knocks his bowl of cereal onto the floor, shyness evaporated into thin air as he pulls Jeno into his lap.

It’s in smaller moments that Jeno comes to realize that he’s truly fallen for Mark Lee. All of him has added up into a person that Jeno wants to keep around in his life, though he’s never been one to force those around him to stay. And, after all, falling for Mark, proper, includes commitment.

Commitment is a terrifying sort of thing to Jeno, who clutches his sense of autonomy and freedom to his chest with the sort of desperation one would expect from someone about to sign their life away. Jeno wonders if it’s a byproduct of his desperate attempt to cling to whatever space he has been given. It doesn’t really make much sense in his head, though Jeno has come to terms with the fact that sometimes things just _won’t_.

And commitment, here, holds a larger sort of weight, as weeks pass faster than Jeno can blink, and Mark is laughing as he tries on his graduation cap and gown for Jeno. It’s surreal how far they’ve come in such a short time, and part of Jeno wonders if they’re rushing it, though Donghyuck smooths down his hair on a Tuesday and tells Jeno that, no, it’s never too early to practice good communication.

In the background, Renjun had snorted and Yukhei, sprawled across the bed, offered a laugh. Jeno’s trying to get better at the whole communication thing.

Which is why he _knows_ that he has to do it—he has to ask Mark what the future holds, even if the present is more important. Jeno doesn’t deny the importance of current events; being able to live in the moment is what allowed Jeno to fall in love so easily. Unlike Donghyuck, who Jeno _knows_ will be his past, his present, and his future, Mark is an uncertainty.

There’s no guarantee that Mark will be anything beyond his past and his present. It unsettles Jeno; throws him off balance without a rope to grab onto for stability. His arms are waving around to shift his weight back to center above the beam he balances on.

Leaning against Mark’s bed, Jeno’s fingers grip the sheets as he stares at Mark, who hangs his graduation cap and gown back up in his closet. This room is a space that Jeno has become well-acquainted with. It’s a space cultivated for Mark. It’s orderly in a disastrous sort of way that doesn’t feel cluttered, though there’s something about it that Jeno _knows_ would send a shudder up Yukhei’s spine.

It’s quiet as Mark turns back towards him, smile wide.

“You’re graduating,” Jeno says, hesitant.

Mark’s palm is warm against his cheek as he leans forward; slots his lips against Jeno’s to satiate him. It kills the nervous buzz thrumming through Jeno’s body and pulls him back to the present. He licks into Mark’s mouth when he parts his lips, moaning as Mark rubs gentle circles against his shoulder. It’s rather quiet in Mark’s apartment, save for the sound of Kunhang’s video games resonating through the open space. Jeno feels peaceful.

Whatever happens will happen.

“I’m graduating,” confirms Mark with a smile.

“You’re moving. You’re _leaving_.” Jeno can’t help the way his voice pitches up or he clings to Mark’s shirt, sort of desperate. He’s played this conversation out in his head many times, and every single run-through ended like this. “Mark, you’re graduating.”

Fingers card through Jeno’s hair as Mark hums in confirmation. “I’m graduating, yes. I’m leaving, yes. I’m moving, yes. You’re not wrong.”

_What about us?_ Jeno wants to ask, biting down on his cheek. It’s a loaded question, and Jeno isn’t sure that he wants the answer. They never navigated this—never really thought that this day would arrive. Or, Jeno didn’t, at least. It was easy for Jeno to pretend that living in the present was the only option; that forever was the only outcome for them. It’s not, though. This is a conversation they _must_ have.

Jeno just needs to grow up. Rip the bandaid off. There’s no easy solution to this—one answer will reaffirm everything Jeno has poured into this relationship, and the other will reaffirm that perhaps it wasn’t worth it. And that’s dramatic and cruel and _very_ Jeno.

“You want to talk about us, right?” Mark asks. His question is innocent enough, what with the way his eyes are sparkling in the light that filters in through Jeno’s window. “You’re an open book, you know.”

“What’s,” Jeno frowns when Mark pulls him close, “going to happen to us?”

“Well,” Mark hums, reaching up to muss up his hair, “if you’ll still have me, I want to make this work, you know. Make _us_ work. I think that we can do it. We went through a lot already.”

Jeno knows this. There was a lot of mess leading up to this moment, so much of it in his head. “I want to make this work,” Jeno murmurs. “God, do I want to make us fucking work, Mark Lee.”

“Then we will.” Mark is nodding, pushing Jeno farther up the bed before he rests beside him. “I think we can do it. We just need to talk. Work things out. I think if both of us work hard for it, we can do it.”

These words don’t solve the entirety of the clusterfuck of a storm that brews in Jeno’s mind. The future is so messy and uncertain, setting Jeno constantly on edge, even as he learns to live in the present. Regardless, he chooses, in that moment, to believe Mark Lee. They’ve all been wrong before, but Jeno has a good feeling that, in this moment, Mark is right.

“I’m glad you could stick around for my graduation,” Mark murmurs, pulling Jeno closer.

The apartment is silent and Jeno wonders if Kunhang left already. The look he had sent them when he opened the door was one that screamed, _I won’t be back_, and Jeno isn’t sure how much truth there was to it. He’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, reaching out under the blanket to grab Mark’s shirt in his fists. His bed is only marginally more comfortable than Jeno’s dorm mattress, though it’s considerably larger and, for _that_, Jeno is grateful.

“My parents were definitely confused,” replies Jeno with a laugh, “though they weren’t against it. You’re just lucky that my older sister graduated last year.”

Pressing a kiss to Jeno’s lips, Mark hums in agreement. “Though I feel like you would’ve tried to come to mine, anyways.”

“Of course. Though, don’t tell my sister that. She’d have my head on a stick if she heard,” Jeno mutters, scrunching his nose. The idea of breaking that sort of news to his older sister has a shudder racing up his spine. It would be his demise.

Mark’s hand is warm on his cheek as he gently nods. “You know I would’ve told you to go to hers, though. My policy has been, and always will be, family first”

“I bet you that I would’ve been able to make both,” challenges Jeno, pouting.

Mark doesn’t gratify him with a response. Rather, he pulls Jeno close enough that their chests are touching. He thinks that Mark’s internal temperature must always run a degree or so higher than his own; and his heartrate must be considerably higher. Jeno can feel it against his palm as he presses his hand against Mark’s chest before trailing it up to his shoulder where he presses his fingers into his skin delicately.

It’s natural: slotting his lips with Mark’s and humming; tangling his fingers in Mark’s hair. Jeno thinks that he could stay like this—suffocate, letting Mark steal all the air from his lungs. All the while, though, he knows that Mark would pick him back up and bring him back to life. And it’s natural, the way that Mark’s fingers creep up under Jeno’s shirt as he’s pulled onto his lap.

Tracing patterns into Jeno’s skin with the tips of his fingers, Mark coaxes Jeno into another kiss. It’s soothing, Jeno melting into his touch that trails from his abdomen to his back. Mark flattens his hands, smoothing them down before they’re sliding down, fingers digging under the waistband of his briefs to squeeze Jeno’s ass. It’s embarrassing, the noise that Jeno lets out, Mark laughing against his lips.

“_Mark_,” Jeno whines.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Mark’s smile is wide as Jeno shifts himself, pressing their hips together.

“Listen,” murmurs Jeno against Mark’s cheek, “I know you’re all about explicit consent nowadays, so here it is. I want you to fuck me.”

Tutting, Mark kisses Jeno’s cheek. It’s chaste but sweet, and Jeno can’t help but think of the way that they’ve progressed. “A hookup isn’t the same as a relationship, but I was all about explicit consent _then_, too. We never fucked when we were drunk. _Maybe_ after a drink or two. I take pride in that.”

“You should,” Jeno is smiling, sitting up straight as he admits, “Because, fuck, I think that’s when I started falling for you.”

“Not my dashing good looks?”

Jeno traces his fingers against Mark’s jaw, enjoying the way his eyes flutter shut before opening when Jeno pulls away. “I think it was a lot of things, Mark, that made me fall for you.”

There’s silence as Mark’s gaze travels over to bottle on the side table, and Jeno is forced to swallow a hot flash of shame as he remembers the way he had moaned over Mark’s dick after he had been fingered open until he was a belligerent mess last night. He’s sure Kunhang heard it all, and it’s something of a miracle that Jeno can still feel embarrassment around Mark, considering the number of times their friends had walked in on them. A mystery, really.

It’s clunky—it always will be—undressing on the bed. There’s always laughter and kisses and jokes that have Jeno gasping for breath. Amusement and care and a closeness are at the base of what they have for one another, and it’s a stable sort of foundation. Things with Mark are easy, and Jeno really basks in that reality; lets Mark coax him onto his hands and knees, fingers gentle against his skin, because Mark is always careful and gentle and soothing until he isn’t, and it’s a stark contrast, really.

“I fell for you,” Mark murmurs, “for many reasons. I’d be lying if I said that you being a good fuck wasn’t one of the things that kept me around, though. But I guess it kept me around to learn about everything else that I like about you.”

“Real romantic, Mark,” teases Jeno with a laugh.

“What can I say? I’m a romantic man.”

“Yeah, rig—_fuck_.”

Jeno back curves as Mark spreads his cheeks apart before pressing the flat of his tongue against his rim. Fingers curling against the bed, Jeno has enough of a conscience to lament the fact that Mark always seems to have something new up his sleeve. And he shouldn’t be surprised, really, that Mark is taking this opportunity to reduce Jeno to an illiterate, bumbling _mess_.

Words can’t even come to the forefront of Jeno’s mind as Mark flexes his tongue against Jeno’s rim, pressing open-mouthed kisses that sound fucking filthy in the room. Jeno isn’t sure how long it lasts, though he’s not sure that his mind formed any coherent thoughts between the beginning and the end other than thinking how pitiful he must sound, begging Mark over and over and over again to fuck him. Somewhere along the way Jeno had decided that holding himself up was exhausting, letting his arms rest under his cheek.

He’s hard, now, painfully so, and he receives only the smallest bit of retribution when he stares over his shoulder to see that Mark isn’t doing any better. Mark’s hands on his hips are gentle, and Jeno keeps his cheek pressed to the pillow. There’s the click of the lube, and Jeno closes his eyes as Mark presses an experimental finger against his rim. The gel is still cold, prompting Jeno to take a deep breath. There’s no race towards anything anymore—it’s easy for Jeno to bask in Mark’s presence without feeling rushed.

He’s glad that they got to this point, even if it took time, and even if the future feels a little cloudy. Jeno has taught himself to live in the present when it comes to Mark. There’s no point, really, to him wasting the time he has with him worrying and thinking and—

“_Ah_,” hums Jeno.

There’s no rush—Kunhang is out of the apartment and the night is still young. When he opens his eyes, the sunset casts a lovely shade of orange across the wall, and Mark is murmuring gentle nothings against the curve of Jeno’s spine. His kisses and words are delicate, though Jeno can’t decipher their meanings over the thrum of blood rushing through his veins as Mark fingers him open, nice and slow.

Jeno isn’t tight, and he reasons in his head that it might be correlated with the morning fuck they had in Mark’s room before realizing that Kunhang _was_ still in the apartment, and that their moans were probably _not_ what he was expecting to hear at nine in the morning. Jeno had half-a-mind to duck his head as he sprinted to the bathroom, though Mark’s laugh was a note that shame was not something that Mark Lee has.

“I could get used to this,” Mark murmurs. “God, I could get used to this.”

Humming, Jeno thinks that he could get used to this, too—the way that Mark works him open slowly and with reverence for his body. He keens as Mark crooks his fingers in just the right way, fingers digging into the cheap mattress, hands sliding back to his body. It’s intoxicating, and Jeno pushes back, fucking himself onto Mark’s fingers.

There’s never a rush with Mark—not in the emotional sense—though the clock on the bedside table reminds Mark of the date and time and how he has places to be and things to do in a matter of hours. Less than that, really. There isn’t a rush _emotionally_, though the sun rising and the looming threat of an alarm set a hard deadline.

“_Mark_,” whimpers Jeno.

“I know, sweetheart,” Mark whispers against his skin.

Jeno can’t bring himself to open his eyes—lets out a pitiful moan when Mark removes his fingers—and ruts up against the bed as Mark rummages through a drawer. There’s a soft _fuck_, and Jeno’s mind isn’t really processing much anymore, really. Not that it was doing anything in the first place. All he can process is the steady push of Mark’s dick, warm, as he opens Jeno. He could get used to this, too; the way that Mark pauses, breath heavy and catching in his throat as he bottoms out, hips pressed to Jeno’s ass.

“I’ll fuck you better later. I promise.” One hand gently runs up and down Jeno’s side, drawing out a shudder. “We have to be quick or I won’t make it to my graduation on time.”

“Fuck your graduation,” Jeno mutters into the sheets, opening one eye to peer up at Mark.

Amused, Mark offers a, “I don’t think my parents would like that.”

“Is this you asking for my permission to be selfish?” Looking at Mark, he receives a sheepish grin in reply. “As if I’d ever say no to you.”

Mark presses a soft kiss to Jeno’s temple before pulling out. It’s a quick fuck—it has to be at this point, the clock a constant reminder that they’ve wasted too much time, and Mark has places to be and things to do in an hour. Jeno doesn’t care, though; he knows that Mark will fuck him, slow, after dinner with his parents; that freedom will course through Mark’s blood and he’ll be bold. That Mark, tonight, will whisper about how badly he wanted to fuck Jeno all through dinner.

This may be a quick fuck, Mark chasing his own high with his hand wrapped around Jeno’s dick, stroking up and down messily, but Jeno doesn’t think it could go any other way. In this moment, he wouldn’t _want_ it any other way.

Jeno knows Mark is close—can tell from the way his thrusts as becoming more frantic and uncoordinated, his hand loosening its grip on Jeno’s dick. Impatient, Jeno brushes away Mark’s hand before deciding that he can treat himself better in his moment, not that Mark hadn’t already shown his body the sort of reverence that Jeno could only dream of.

The heat in the bottom of his stomach, which had been steadily building, hits its apex in the middle of a thought, and the most Jeno can say is a strangled, _fuck_, punctuated by whines and moans that bounce off the bedroom walls and rest heavy against his tongue. Mark’s fingers dig into his hips as his thrusts turn into stuttered attempts and he’s coming, the sensation warm through the condom.

It drags the smallest of moans from Jeno’s lips before it morphs into a whine as Mark pulls out.

“Well,” Mark says with a laugh, tossing the used condom in the trash, “time to go graduate, I guess.”

Groaning, Jeno throws a pillow at him. “I’ll see you after the ceremony.”

“Don’t be late.”

“You’re lucky I’m coming at all after this.”

It’s as if there’s an eternity between when Mark graduates and when Mark leaves, and Jeno tries his best to fill that space with memories. He pulls Mark to movies that they would’ve skipped otherwise; invites Mark to his hometown, where his mother showers him with love and his father has an approving glint in his eye. And Mark does the same to him; invites Jeno to a side of his world that he thought would remain a mystery longer. And Mark has his father’s smile and his mother’s spark for life, and it’s easy to see how a household so full of love could lead to one, very talented, very loving, very honest Mark Lee.

They run through an amusement park and find time to call, gazing at the stars. Jeno wants every cliché and more, and Mark is more than willing to play along; to give Jeno what he wishes for.

There are things that are necessary, though, like booking Airbnbs and screensharing apartment complexes in the city that Mark will move to. Jeno has no expectations of being dragged along to apartment viewings, though he finds himself splitting the Airbnb cost with Mark and flying to his hometown to slide into Mark Lee’s old car, destination set on the GPS. Everything is coming together in a lovely sort of way that Jeno feels more than happy to settle into.

It’s midnight when they arrive at their stay, Mark apologizing profusely to Jeno for needing to stop so often. Jeno, instead of listening, forces Mark to drop their bags at the entrance and fall into bed. And when they wake, Mark is already making him coffee and sunlight is streaming in through the windows. This, Jeno thinks, could be their future. He’s not really sure—there are still uncertainties in the horizon, really.

The cold floor against his tired feet reminds Jeno that he shouldn’t worry about that so soon.

It’s quiet in the bedroom, Mark pouring over his laptop as Jeno putters around the kitchen, pulling open drawers before closing them again. He’s circled around the small Airbnb five times at this point, the caffeine in his body finally absorbing into his bloodstream as he finishes his final stroll. This trip isn’t for him, anyways. It’s for Mark, who’s hunched over the small desk, chewing on the back of his pen. It’s unsanitary and Jeno tells him as such.

Pulling it from Mark’s mouth, Jeno frowns. “Gross.”

“Sorry. Bad habit,” Mark replies, leaning back. His vertebrae crack, one by one, as he looks up at Jeno, eyes hidden behind the glare on his glasses.

He reaches out to pull Mark’s glasses off before gently rubbing at his temples. Closing his eyes, Mark allows them to fall into the moment as Jeno hums along to a song they heard on the radio in the Uber ride yesterday. It’s catchy and repetitive, and Jeno doesn’t know the lyrics, though he’s not sure it matters. This is a common occurrence, really, what with Jeno’s taste in music largely built upon the scarce diversity of songs played in the basement of a fraternity house.

Mark tends to tease him for this—play songs at random and ask Jeno if it’s familiar; if he can name the artist or sing along to the chorus. Jeno isn’t proud that more often than not he falters, though it’s not like he’s ashamed of it, either. It’s a way that they pass the time spent laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, smooth and barren.

There are posters, Mark told him, that they can put on the ceiling to make it feel like an open sky, either in the daytime or night. Jeno had smiled and laughed and told Mark that it doesn’t really matter in the end, seeing as the scenery out the window will give the truth away. It’s a nice thought, though, and Jeno, instead, voiced that perhaps they can stick glow in the dark dinosaur skeletons on the ceiling.

He’s not sure why he suggested that, and not stars, though the latter are too cliché for them, and Jeno’s always had a sort of fascination with dinosaurs. And Mark didn’t bat an eye—accepted Jeno’s suggestion at face-value and took the opportunity to scroll through the internet, showing Jeno his purchases weeks later, tucked in padded envelopes and addressed to _Mark and Jeno Lee_.

They’ll rest on their ceiling, Mark said, emphasizing the co-ownership of the material over their head, and Jeno still doesn’t understand what he meant. What is Mark’s isn’t necessarily Jeno’s and vice-versa.

A hand on the back of his neck pulls him down, Mark pressing a light kiss against his forehead with a smile. “Finally awake?”

“As awake as I think I’m going to be at this point,” Jeno answers honestly. It’s not a convincing statement as he whines around a yawn before pulling another chair up to the desk. Blinking around his exhaustion, Jeno stares at the screen of Mark’s laptop. “Jesus. Think you have enough tabs open?”

Grimacing, Mark shakes his head. “Not really. Half of these are already off the market. They’re from a few weeks ago. Apartments go so fast.”

“Cut-throat,” mutters Jeno.

They fall into a silence as Mark sorts through his tabs, refreshing pages and closing those that are off the market. Unfortunately, it’s a majority of the tabs, and it’s almost as if they’re back to square one. Rubbing Mark’s back, Jeno smiles as a way to encourage his boyfriend, who lets out a defeated sigh as he closes the entire window before opening a brand-new browser.

“Should I be looking for two-bedroom apartments?” Mark asks, scrolling through a webpage, “Or, like, should we just get a one-bedroom and buy a pull-out couch for guests? We could do a futon, too.”

“Why are you asking me?” Jeno laughs as he looks at Mark. “This is your apartment, not mine.”

“It’s _ours_, seeing as you’ll be moving in with me after you graduate.”

“I _might_ be,” corrects Jeno, resting his chin on Mark’s shoulder. The apartments he’s viewing aren’t cheap, though Jeno recognizes that Mark’s lucky—that he’s receiving help from his parents for the first several months before he receives his first paycheck, which is hefty for a recent-graduate. “It depends on what happens when I graduate.”

Rolling his eyes, he huffs before beginning to sort through all of the tabs he had opened. “I’d be more surprised if you _didn’t_ get a job in the city.”

“You have too much faith in me, Mark,” Jeno replies, honestly. Mark _always_ has more faith in Jeno that he thinks he deserves, or needs, but he accepts it anyways, because it’s always presented in such an earnest way that he thinks it would be wrong of him to push it away. “But I will admit that I really hope that I can find a job here.”

Jeno is determined to make this work—they had committed to the future they want to share, and it’s all simply a matter of working for it. He’ll work for it, tirelessly and without hesitation.

“You will. And you’ll move in with me, and you might even get sick of me,” Mark teases, laughing as Jeno gives his side a half-hearted pinch. “I’m just saying… you never know.”

“If I was sick of you, you’d know it,” mutters Jeno. He scrunches his nose before sitting back up, gaze trailing back towards the laptop screen. The thought of sharing a space with Mark—calling a place _their_ own—is a bit dizzying in the loveliest way, and Jeno smiles. “We’ll just have to wait and see, though.”

“Yeah, well,” Mark turns away, “I’m calling it now.”

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jeno never believed that until he did. It’s not that it’s hard for him to exist without Mark, because Jeno is already bad at existing on his own, regardless of his relationship status. Mark moving hours away doesn’t make this situation any better, though it doesn’t make it any worse, either and, for that, Jeno is grateful. He knows that Donghyuck is, too.

After all, it’s Donghyuck who keeps careful vigil over Jeno on the worst days, Renjun and Yukhei puttering around their apartment with careful steps and wary gazes. Jeno isn’t fragile, though. Or, at least, he isn’t as fragile as he used to be. He’s more delicate with himself.

Jeno is willing to listen to the way that his heart feels, and his mind burns. It’s not much, but it’s a step in the right direction, and he can’t really afford to be picky anymore. There’s a future beyond this campus that waits for him, and Jeno knows this. Spends hours pouring over his resumé and the barely-there curriculum vitae; cover letters and emails requesting recommendations are constantly on his mind.

He isn’t picky. Jeno is comfortable ending up where employment takes him, though he knows, deep down, there’s a part of him that will be disappointed if he doesn’t end up with Mark. Donghyuck tells him to push that from his mind because there’s still time. And Donghyuck—and Renjun—are going through a similar thing, learning to navigate a world so far away from Yukhei. And Jaemin is navigating a world without Dejun.

Long distance, Jaemin had said, was something they could not do. There is too much time between the last time they would be close. It was mutual, Jaemin ascertains. If things work out, they’ll work out. And Jeno is predisposed to believe his friend; instead, he spends his time offering a shoulder for Jaemin to rest his head on when he’s reminded of what he had, and when he gets too eager to look forward to the possibility of returning to Dejun’s side.

Moments of silence are far and few between with those around him, however, and it’s easy enough to slip back into the motions of the semester. Only, instead of belligerent Saturday nights, Jeno spends them coaxing a tipsy Mark Lee into bed, whose high-pitched laughter echoes in Jeno’s heart as he murmurs, _I love you_ over and over into the receiver.

_You’re drunk_, Jeno will say; and Mark will reply, _I always love you, though_.

Distance makes hearts grow fonder, though alcohol makes heart more honest, and Mark always laments wanting to have said those words more earnestly while Jeno comforts him in knowing that there’s no one more honest than a drunk Mark Lee.

Instead of hungover Sunday mornings, Jeno spends them with hunched over a library table, pouring over job application after job application, navigating the world of _time management_ as he juggles exams and essays with things that have a _real_ impact on his future, like Skype interviews and cover letters. There’s no easy way to allocate his time, though; not really, when even his professors are understanding when Jeno must leave for an interview.

Donghyuck teases him—tells him that if he stands up, the interview is over, while Jeno argues that there’s no point in wearing slacks if they’re never going to see his legs during the entire thing. It’s the beauty of interviewing over video call, really. Jeno wishes that all social interactions could be done this way, without an expectation for matching your tops to your bottoms.

As luck would have it, however, winter break brings in-person interviews; Jeno walking in somewhat-confidently, palms sweaty as he answers questions that he isn’t sure that there’s actually an answer to. And he knows that he’s well-off at this point, ten interviews under his belt; a handful of second interviews. It’s a structured process, and there are students around him that are struggling to find opportunities. Renjun sits on the edge of his seat, waiting to hear back from graduate programs while Donghyuck bites his nails as he waits to hear if he received the job.

Jeno wonders how far their futures will take them from one another. He hopes not far, though he likes to think that physical distance doesn’t manifest itself as emotional distance, and that his friends will still feel as close to him, regardless of how many hours he will need to travel to see them in person once again.

They’re crowded in Renjun’s apartment, curled up on his bed as a shitty B-movie plays on the television. A sort of unfamiliar quiet is draped across them, and Jeno can see the way that it pinches and pulls and wraps around Donghyuck’s mind until Renjun is reaching out and pressing delicate touches to the side of Donghyuck’s neck to pull him back to reality. All of them are in pieces in some sort of way, though they form some sort of complete thing when together.

Jaemin’s fingers are tangled in the hem of Jeno’s sweater, and Jeno’s arms are wrapped around Donghyuck’s, and Renjun feels safest with his cheek pressed against Donghyuck’s shoulder. The people they are _now_ are so different from the people they were yesterday—last year, really, Jeno thinks. There are still shards of broken things that Jeno picks up as he meanders through life.

The sight of a Solo cup still spears a shudder of discomfort through his body, and forces Jeno to wonder where Yuqi is, what she’s doing, how she’s holding up. Brings to mind the person that Jeno was, the person that Jeno became, and the things that he had to unlearn to get back to this point. He vacillates between two extremes, though no one ever told him it would be easy to find that happy medium.

“So, I think the general consensus,” Renjun says as the credits roll, “is that this movie was worse than the _last_, and therefore we need to watch something _good_ to forget that those two ever existed.”

“So bad that it’s good? Or just good?”

Jaemin’s chin digs into Jeno’s shoulder as he speaks, voice loud in the silence. Renjun’s only response is a thoughtful hum before he’s clambering off the bed to start another movie. The clock in the corner of the room reads 03:33, and Jeno wonders why he doesn’t feel exhausted yet—he wonders if exhaustion will hit them all quickly and suddenly, or gradually.

He isn’t sure how the night has drawn on for so long, though Jeno realizes that it probably doesn’t matter. Not now that their final semester has finally drawn to a close and the most they can do is wait. Until then, Jeno will watch as many B-movies as it takes to soothe away the looming shadow of the future.

There’s a tap against his temple, gentle, and Jeno turns to meet Donghyuck’s sleepy gaze.

“What goes on up here, Jeno Lee?’

“Enough,” he answers honestly.

He’s close. It’s not much farther, and the urban edges slowly morph into a city the farther Jeno drives. The slightest tinge of exhaustion plays at the edges of Jeno’s consciousness as he flips the bird at a driver who honks at him before passing through the box. His phone barks directions at him through the AUX cord, interjecting between phrases from songs that Donghyuck had chosen for their road trip playlist.

It was only right for Donghyuck to be the one to come with him—the friend who saw Jeno’s genesis. His birth, his rise, and his tragic downfall, only to reemerge as a new man. Or, something of those lines. There’s nothing nearly as poetic about it as that sort of analogy makes it sound, and Jeno thinks that it’s more like someone who fell into a bog and finally cleaned themselves up.

Regardless, it’s Donghyuck and Jeno, and Jeno and Donghyuck, and there’s no one else Jeno would rather drive through a heartless city with.

“It really feels like things worked out for you, huh, Jeno?” Donghyuck pauses from typing on his phone to glance at his best friend who smiles sheepishly, eyes trained on the road. “Don’t go around acting all cocky now that things have fallen into place.”

“Last time I acted cocky, I almost got killed in a drunken fight, so I’d rather not,” admits Jeno, hands flexing on the steering wheel of his car, "Unless that's the expectation you're setting for me."

“How long’s your drive gonna be?”

Humming, Jeno shakes his head. He has to think about it for a moment, still uncertain. “I think my commute’s gonna be thirty minutes on a good day… Probably twice as long if I leave too late and traffic fucks me in the ass.”

“Well, we can’t have _that_ happen, now can we?”

“N—”

“Not when Mark Lee is going to be the only one fucking that ass from now on.”

Jeno presses his lips together and fights the urge to shake his head. “I _knew_ that was coming and I still walked right into it.”

Shit-eating grin on his face, Donghyuck turns his body in the seat to stare at Jeno. And, if Jeno could, he would stare right back. Their cracks are mended at this point—scars that were left behind to remind them of what bullshit happened, and warns them of what bullshit may be to come, though Jeno doesn’t care when, in the present, Donghyuck is sitting next to him with wide eyes that are a little too sparkly to be real, and a smile much too kind to be something Jeno deserves.

Life with Donghyuck will be weird after spending nearly every waking moment with him for the past four years. Even in different states they weren’t necessarily apart, simply a phone call away. Or a video call. Or a text message. The means of communication didn’t—don’t—really matter. What matters, Jeno thinks, is that distance won’t make what friendship he has with Donghyuck disappear. If anything, he hopes it makes it stronger.

“What will I do without you, Jeno Lee?” Donghyuck asks quietly into the car. “And what will Mark Lee do with you?”

“Well, you’ll probably continue to call me at fucked up hours in the night, and I’ll pick up, because it’s you,” says Jeno with a smile, “and Mark will probably wake up with me, and listen to me talk to you until he falls back asleep.”

“Because he knows how important I am to you?”

“Because he knows that you’re the most important to me,” Jeno answers succinctly.

And it’s not a lie—not really. Because, through the fracturing and the breaking and the falling apart and the rebuilding and healing, Jeno came to the conclusion that what he has with Mark can be permanent. He _hopes_ that it’s permanent, and it’s looking like it will be. With Donghyuck, though, he knew that what they have is permanent, regardless of circumstances. Wherever Jeno goes, Donghyuck will follow in some way, shape, or form.

They’re not necessarily a package deal, but they’re something close. Their dynamics, of course, will change over time, but Jeno thinks that Donghyuck is, definitely, a permanent fixture in his life, regardless of whether his role will stay the same or continue to change. Jeno recognizes that, and he thinks that the world will continue to spin into the far-off future.

“Aw,” Donghyuck reaches across the console to punch Jeno in the arm, “what a guy. You don’t have to gussy me up. I already told you that I wasn’t gonna help you move in. I’m just coming for moral support. I’m flying back tomorrow morning.”

“I’m trying to be an earnest, thoughtful friend, and you go and _punch_ me and then have the gall to tell me you aren’t gonna help?” asks Jeno, feigning hurt. He laughs as Donghyuck makes a fuss in the passenger seat, even as they pull into the parking garage and tap Donghyuck’s thigh to ask him to pull the parking pass from the glove compartment. “There’s an elevator, and Mark said he’s borrowing a cart from the front desk.”

Rolling his eyes, Donghyuck shoves the compartment closed. He’s always been one for dramatics, though Jeno reasons that it keeps life exciting. “I don’t want to get _sweaty_, though. That’s not what I do. I just sit around and look good.”

“Is that what you told Yukhei and Renjun when you moved in with them?” teases Jeno, scanning the numbers of the parking spots. A small noise slips from his lips as he sees his spot, parking in one fluid motion. “I’m sure they appreciated it.”

“Yukhei moved most of our things on his own, actually,” Donghyuck replies, sliding out of the car. “He told us to ship our things to him, which is what I ended up doing. Everything was in their respective places by the time I arrived with my suitcase.”

Laughing, Jeno pops his trunk open. Down the way, Mark appears, cart behind him as he tugs it along. His steps are quick, and Jeno has to suppress a laugh as he nearly breaks into a sprint as he approaches Jeno’s car. To the side, Donghyuck pretends to gag as Mark plants a messy kiss to Jeno’s cheek before beginning to tackle Jeno’s things.

“What? Do you want a kiss, too, Donghyuck?” Mark teases with a grin.

“Take one step near me and I’ll have your elbows for dinner,” retorts Donghyuck, shaking his head. “You two are already so disgustingly domestic. I feel nauseous looking at you both. I can’t wait to hop on my plane and head back to my boys.”

“Right,” Mark hauls a box onto the cart, “that’s not what you were saying when you told me that you’re glad that Jeno and I worked out and that we make a great couple and if I break Jeno’s heart you’ll sell my liver on the black market.”

Lips pressed together, Donghyuck nods. “I meant every word I said, Lee. I will indeed sell your liver. And your spleen. And kidneys. Though, to be honest, do any of us have organs that aren’t fucked up from the parties in college?”

Jeno raises a hand lazily in the air in response and he empties out the last thing in his car—a large suitcase that threatens to roll away when he places it on the ground. “I didn’t drink at all senior year, other than our trip to Florida for senior week.”

Slamming the trunk shut, Donghyuck waves a hand in response before shuffling in the direction that Mark appeared from. There’s not much for him to say, regardless, but his noncommittal reply has Jeno laughing before he pushes his suitcase forward as he runs after his best friend.

Life, he thinks, has moved forward. It will continue to move forward, and Jeno will need to keep up. And nothing will be easy, and he’s sure there will be challenges. It’s okay, though. He reasons in his head that it’s simply a fact of life. At the door to the elevator, he reaches for Mark’s hand, suitcase steady in his other. When it opens, Jeno allows himself to smile.

This is a new chapter in the fucked-up book that is his life. He’s spilled a few cups of coffee, smudged some words, and torn a few pages. Jeno is ready.


End file.
